First Night I Rummaged Your Room
The afternoon when I found
the box with the rolling papers
and ziplock plastic bag
hidden behind the hedge clippers,
I ended up studying the rusty nails
that protruded from the unstained wooden slats
a quarter inch from the upright support
that was suppose to hold those nails.
Near the old shovel with the broken handle
waiting for a new handle,
a moth fluttered in the web of a spider
and the spider spun more silk
to immobilize the creature three times its size.
You, my son, were on your afternoon bicycling date
with Jenny, who I had not met yet,
and I decided right then we would have a talk
about why you wanted a gun so much.
A couple of guns in fact:
twenty-two caliber target pistol,
a derringer and a nine millimeter.
I thought guns just a phase
that all teen boys went through.
The moth subdued by the spider
slept the chemical nightmare
of stings and binding
while its life was sucked out of it
over the next few days.
I needed to know why you donated
all of your short sleeve shirts
to the salvation army
and why you spent so much time
studying the north star
instead of sleeping soundly
in your bed.
—Kenneth P. Gurney, Albuquerque, NM
