Buntings
1December 15, 2012 by The Citron Review
by Jason Barry
Father told me once to
be a man
for I was not meant to sketch
a daffodil or chase the buntings
as they swooped like paper planes
from our red chimney
flight lines of curlicues and
feathers
don’t just sit there
he’d say on Sunday mornings
fishing rods in hand
but I’d grin and let my feet
dangle down into the water
toes tickled by the skins
of passing trout
when I was eight years old
I learned what all sons know
Uncle Bill’s daughter in our garage
if you mention this to anyone
I’ll destroy you Dad said
grey hands like shattered clay on
a child’s breast
we walked into to the study
that autumn evening
sunset painted above the lake
I remember him whispering that
these suckers pack a heavy punch
twenty hollow-points in a plastic box
pro casing
heart crushing
silver feeling
he placed a shell in my jacket pocket
kissed my forehead lightly
and said to play in the field
out back with Jenny
Jason Barry is a writer based in Boulder, Colorado. He is the poetry editor at The Bacon Review, and acquisitions editor for books in philosophy at Paradigm Publishers. His recent poems have appeared in The Fat City Review, BarebackLit Review, On a Junket, and other print and online publications.
Category: 2012, Poetry | Tags: Buntings, Jason Barry, Poetry, The Citron Review, Winter 2012
This is beautiful!