For We Write Poems Poetry Prompt 200: Young Mysteries, we were asked to use this title http://wewritepoems.wordpress.com
The Mystery of A Gun
Until last summer we never spoke
of it. Sixty years of silence kept
between six people.
Reverberation of the shotgun blast
in small, long ago kitchen, still
thundered through our shared blood stream.
Metal breadbox fatally pierced with burnt black
pellet holes, where only moments before
at least three of us were standing.
Father’s voice shaky with shock, “But…
I always clean it, remove the shells,
after hunting season…How?…”
Miracle of no one hurt, no one harmed.
Miracle of sixty year silence, silently
agreed upon in that far away moment.
Until last summer, when we surviving siblings
finally spoke in subdued tones, almost whispers,
still driven by thundering silent need to protect him.
Elizabeth Crawford 2/13/14
Notes: True story. Father cleaning gun at kitchen table (usually done in back shed), in preparation for annual deer hunting season. The entire family gathered in that small space, preparing for dinner when the gun went off. The incident was never spoken of afterward, until last summer when we three siblings were together driving to the fourth sibling’s home for an over-night visit. When asked, by accompanying spouses, why they had never heard about it, I offered the only answer I could think of, that we never wanted anyone to think our father could be so careless or foolish. The conversation ended there. The image is a digital painting, one of my very early ones, titled Divided Heart. And yes, there is music. It came quickly, as I finished writing. Another brought by my musical prophet as she told me it always reminds her of my stories about my dad because her own story is so very different. It can be found here: