by M F Drummy
I would never ask you to
hold a cactus in your bare hands.
I’m not that kind of person.
Our prairie home is what we have left between us,
three tiny floors enfolding decades of unsettled
scores: kids & deaths & manipulated
goalposts. When I sit in it, alone, transfixed
by the stillness, it is as though a trip wire
had been installed in every doorway, a first
line of defense against me,
of all people.
You aren’t the kind of person who easily
forgets, who forgets so easily as to forgive
without some type of detonation. What
always follows is what was missing in the
first place: The soft explosion; a trembling
knife slicing free the meat of the cactus;
flocks of common house finches fleeing
the scene,
never to return.
M F Drummy holds a PhD in historical theology from Fordham University. He is the author of numerous haiku/senryu/haibun, articles, essays, poems, reviews, and a monograph on religion and ecology (Being and Earth). His work has appeared, or will appear, in Allium, Amethyst Review, Anti-Heroin Chic, the engine(idling, FERAL, Frogpond, Main Street Rag, Modern Haiku, Pato, Prune Juice, Scarlet Dragonfly, Street Cake, Viridian Door, and many others. He and his wife of nearly 20 years enjoy splitting their time between the Colorado Rockies and the rest of the planet. He can be found at: X @mdrummy56 Instagram @miguelito.drummalino Website https://bespoke-poet.com
Emerge Literary Journal 