Rifle Poem :: Poetry Poems

RifleTheres a crack in the air, and Im rakehell by the soundthe moment deadly still until its broken by another crack.A long sinuous echo hangs in the air,so physical I might try to wave it away uniform smoke.Then a third and fourth crack, and Im on my feet,even though shots arent unheard of in hunting season,these rural woods overfull with deer. merely instead of this,I think of the uneven unpolished grain in the stockof my first rifle, the weight of it on the shoulder,the trigger worn tame with use. That first sighting with the left eyelooking out. wandering by the sights the feel of the boltin the hand as it pelletped back, slid forward in its pathand locked, readying the cartridge as it lifts into the chamber,secured, prepared. A second snap and its released,out into the world where only a second before in that location was nothing,not even stillness. And then the flood of world returns.