my favorite part is when he holds his breath for a day, his body a bullet trying to tear the fabric of the world and succeeding, his body a bullet willing to exit the world through another, a flesh-death, a hero, of course, he didn’t think he would die. and who am I kidding he didn’t die, he poisoned a lake with his blood, or—not his blood
is it your blood if you spill it? if you bring ribboning
into the water, magic trick, like you enjoyed it?
and who am I kidding, of course he enjoyed it, didn’t you see the water working its way through his lungs as he laughed and laughed, spit red, grinning
I would not enjoy it quite so much, but wouldn’t I do it?
wouldn’t they teach me in school how to rend the knife
from my hand and into death? place it in my palm and say:
go, you have breath enough
a house with a roof teaches us something about how to die, and so does a knife and so does the mother of an enemy
the mother of an enemy with a house and
a roof teaches us something about miracles and knives and why they answer to any question so brutal
Norah Brady is an 18-year-old moon enthusiast writing about conspiracy, climate change, mars, and mountains. They were a runner-up for Youth Poet Laureate of Boston in 2020. Their poetry and short fiction works can be found in Rookie magazine, the Ekphrastic Review, the Blue Marble Review, and elsewhere.
