It was Christmas Day in our backyard
when I first shot my dad’s hunting rifle —
felt it kick back into my shoulder as he looked on,
keeping distance
as shells went flying.
I fingered the trigger,
breathed the weight of it all
burning hot metal
swallowing painted targets
my shaky hands steadying & aiming —
all safeties off.
And I thought, here I am
deep in December — sweating
because
there was something
within the chamber
I couldn’t point to
barreling through me just the same
& the weapon clicks
white knuckle grip
I need to reload, but what’s the point
if all my ghosts wear bulletproof vests
& don’t understand the word no
or stop
& my dad yells, Bull’s eye!
& I drop
the gun.
- Kara Knickerbocker
Kara Knickerbocker is an avid runner, traveler and writer residing in Pittsburgh, where she works at Carnegie Mellon University. Her poetry has been published or is forthcoming in print and online publications including Scrawl, Construction, Pittsburgh Poetry Review, Longridge Review and The Blue Route, among others. She writes with the Madwomen in the Attic poetry workshops at Carlow University. Many writers featured in Chapter & Verse are guests of Prosody, produced by Jan Beatty and Ellen Wadey. Prosody airs every Saturday morning on WESA 90.5 FM.
