Poetry of Stephanie Bennett Henry, Uncategorized

Dancing with the Trigger

The moon is full or maybe that’s my eyes

welling up like they do, when the lump in

my throat can’t hold its place anymore

and it crumbles out from the belly of god.

So loud, all the wolves come to my feet

and call me home. I say,

“Go away. You are lost, follow the moon

until you hear the howl.”

But they sit there, fixed on my eyes.

Focused steady on the song ripping from

my throat, and I scream,

“There’s no goddamn music anyway!”

There never was. It was me singing from

the music in my head. Falling, but calling

it a dance. I do that sometimes to forget

the dance is just me alone, trying to make

sense of this war inside, but there is no

easy answer for the way my fingers love

to touch the shine of the trigger.

-Stephanie Bennett-Henry


5 thoughts on “Dancing with the Trigger”

  1. The wolves come to the song. They understand it, not so different from their own. We, your readers also cannot but hear. like the wedding guest in Coleridge’s poem [The Rime of the Ancient Mariner]:

    “The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone:
    He cannot choose but hear;
    And thus spake on that ancient man,
    The bright-eyed Mariner. ”

    And have hope the Albatross will fall away.

    Liked by 1 person

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