by Kim Malinowski
I cannot say ban guns
I cannot say ban assault rifles
when the Uzi I fired at eight still thrums
its song through my veins, the recoil still smacking muscle
rifle stabled on rusty hood
merging in fierce moment with those before me
deep in warrior chant.
I cannot cannot say ban assault rifles
the morgue has seen enough mangled
enough loved ones pointing at shirts that should be muddy
not tie-dyed with blood.
I cannot cannot cannot watch faces line up
as if on the milk carton shelf
rows of parents, rows of children, wives, lovers, husbands, police
panic the pledge of allegiance
I cannot cannot cannot
cannot see plague
when I prime flintlock, inherit ancestors’
gunpowder
savor gritty aftertaste
Kim Malinowski is a lover of words. Her collection Home was published by Kelsay Books and her chapbook Death: A Love Story was published by Flutter Press. She has three forthcoming verse novels. Her work has appeared in War, Literature, and the Arts, BOMBFIRE, S/tick, Mookychick, and others. Her work dictated that she become a political science defined rebel, advocating for listening and understanding of our individual and collective history and bringing it to the page. She writes because the alternative is unthinkable.
