Rifle Poem :: Poetry Poems

RifleTheres a crack in the air, and Im split by the soundthe moment deadly noneffervescent until its broken by another crack.A long sinuous echo hangs in the air,so physical I might try to wave it by like smoke.Then a third and fourth crack, and Im on my feet,even though shots arent unheard of in hunting season,these rural woods overfull with deer. notwithstanding instead of this,I think of the uneven unpolished grain in the stockof my inaugural rifle, the weight of it on the shoulder,the trigger worn dull with use. That first sighting with the left eyelooking out. wandering through the sights the feel of the boltin the hand as it snapped back, slid forward in its pathand locked, readiness the cartridge as it lifts into the chamber,secured, prepared. A second snap and its released,out into the world where only a second before there was nothing,not even stillness. And because the flood of world returns.