| |
I go back to the scene where the two men embrace
& grapple a handgun at stomach level between them.
They jerk around the apartment like that
holding on to each other, their cheeks
almost touching. One is shirtless, the other
wears a suit, the one in the suit came in through a window
to steal documents or diamonds, it doesn't matter anymore
which, what's important is he was found
& someone pulled a gun, and now they are holding on,
awkwardly dancing through the room, upending
a table of small framed photographs. A chair
topples, Sinatra's band punches the air with horns, I
lean forward, into the screen, they are eye-to-eye,
as stiff as my brother & me when we attempt
to hug. Soon, the gun fires and the music
quiets, the camera stops tracking and they
relax, shoulders drop, their jaws go slack
& we are all suspended in that perfect moment
when no one knows who took the bullet--
the earth spins below our feet, a blanket of swallows
changes direction suddenly above us, folding
into the rafters of a barn, and the two men
no longer struggle, they simply stand in their wreckage
propped in each other's arms.
Nick Flynn
Read poems about / on: brother, music, change, dance, fire
|
|
User Rating: |
|
9.8
/10
(4 votes) |
|
|
|
Free
Poetry E-Book:
E-mail this poem to e friend