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2013 poetry chapbook How a Bullet
Behaves
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How a Bullet Behaves
Cara Losier Chanoine
I am small enough to go unnoticed,
deep in your pants pocket
in the crevice where pelvis meets leg.
People treat me like a lady
because they think that I am dangerous.
They cradle me in limp hands
and hide me in machines
that look like tools,
hard barrels of varied length and size.
I am not a lady.
I don’t like being hidden like a fugitive,
I can take care of myself.
The chamber is dark,
like the outskirts of space
and just as cold.
I have nothing
but time for ideas.
I am apathetic about my own inertia,
but I know that there will be a moment
in which I break free, in wingless flight.
It’s what I’ve been saving my motion for.
When it happens, it will be a bad day
for someone else,
but I am not a serial killer.
I sting like a bee; only once.
This is not what I chose.
No one asked me what I wanted.
If they had, I would have told them
to give me wings, but it’s too late
for that.
I can feel the heat of a hand
closed around the grip,
and I am ready.
Today, I learn to fly.