by Erica Welch
(Memphis, Tennessee )
"This is my gun.
There are many others like it.
But this one is mine."
Sargent says my gun is my wife.
She makes love to me by blowing away what tries to tear us apart.
I no longer dream of making love to her
Her weak body on top of mine,
pinning me to sweat-stained sheets
with the problems.
Problems she straps to her chest like a full metal jacket.
I have found that if I hold the barrel to my cheek,
It's just like sleeping on my father's rounded shoulders.
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