First Anniversary of an Accidental Shooting
For James
Clenched buds predict
this spring will open
like a hollow-nosed .38.
Even God can't break
a natural law or make
the past repeat itself
until you get it right.
At treeline color thins.
Background for branches
you can see through,
skimming the present
for strands of summer.
When you tilt your head
back, blue, deep as the
center of an eye, slaps
your mind clear. Your
nerves turn, feel
the tumblers click,
slide, then finally
loosen and give.
You remember every breath
feeding your future
until, belly swollen,
it burst into the present.
Your brother, caught
in a laugh, took the shot
and fell, gripping the bottle
you've kept since with
the others by your bed.
All year you waited for time
to roll back, suck in
the stray round, seal
your brother's wound, grin,
grab the bottle and leave
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