Poem of the Month: Cusp

My high school boyfriend
put one in my hand once
insisting I hold it
though the weight of it frightened me
the heavy unfamiliarity
its grave, manly shape

He slid it from the glove compartment
while he was driving
pressed it to my palm
like it was some crude Braille
of who he was or could be
of what I had to learn

He said it wasn’t loaded
but that I should point it down
A gun demands respect, he said
annoyed at my timidity
accepting it at last
as close enough to awe

He collected rifles
kept them clean and trenchant
racked above the couch
where every afternoon
we lay clothed and grinding
blissful, gun-shy virgins

He and his twin brother
never used their rifles
except for hunting rats
in the swamp behind their house
exploding them
with guns meant for elephants

The twins were volunteers
to an ambulance corps
where they watched porno flicks
while they waited
for the smell of blood
to call for them

Blue movies, he called them
making them sound pretty and mysterious
instead of clumsy sex watched
in a cold garage
by boys and men in white slacks
like new communicants

I haven’t held one since
that suburban Sunday drive
the boy is long gone, too
shed like all virginity
in gambled, profligate leaps
pointed with regret

Someone said he went to jail
for a son who sold drugs
from their house filled with guns
protected against intruders
who might inch through proper fences
with precise desires

I wonder if, in prison, there was talk
of blue movies, blood, guns
like hieroglyphic resumés
or if the men saved such tailored dreams
for women they hoped were waiting
to decipher them

I once loved a boy who loved guns
who bought me a sheer white nightgown
I slept in alone at another house
who lay a pistol in my hand
a token weathercock
for the coming winds

“Cusp” was published in Issue 69 of the journal Earth’s Daughters, Buffalo, NY, 2006.