I shot my best friend

 

This poem might be hard to read in its entirety.  I chose certain pieces of it to share the gist of the plot.  Here are portions of “I shot my best friend”:

 

I exist in a nightmare

I’ve heard dreams are based on real events

memories

must be true about nightmares, too, because

that 1967 Sunday morning streams through my head

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

1967 Sunday morning:

we’ve been in this deer stand since 4 a.m.

cold

hungry

bored

no deer, no luck

at nine-thirty, we climb down

walk to my truck

rifle barrels pointed down

 

I hear a snort a few yards ahead

left of the trail

I stop

shoulder my rifle

pivot the safety

my trip is a sneeze during a funeral prayer

 

a gunmetal sky watches

it’s horrified

I’m horrified

my hands, warm

slippery

 

sheriff declares an accident

I can’t name it

I won’t

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

© 18 August 2020

Cindy B. Stevens

 

#Art #ArtlixirPoetry #DarkPoetry #IGPoetry #IGPoets #InstaPoetry #Life #LovePoetry #MicroPoetry #Poem #Poet #Poetry #PoetryCommunity #PoetryGram #PoetryIsLife #PoetryIsNotDead #PoetryLovers #PoetryOfig #PoetryOfInstagram #PoetryPorn #PoetSociety #PoetsOfInstagram #SpilledInk #VeinHeartArtisans #Wordsmith #Writer #WritersOfInstagram #Writing

 

Photo credit:  niklas_hamann-x-PuIzBnDUA-unsplash