When you run yellow, I’ll be the eye

of your barrel, a kaleidoscope

to quench this winter’s blood. Remember

the deer you couldn’t call venison, the clay

pigeon you stitched sweetly then shot

again. You’ll be a roof come April. Auburn

draft evaders will brand their shadows into you

like the muddied boot print of east-

blown soot. The trigger

is an icicle, not a stone.

When, don’t tell me




Riley Ward is an undergraduate at Salisbury University. This is her first publication.


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