15
Trying To Find Forgiveness
by Kenneth Gurney
The man who shot my wife
while she pinned laundry to the line
aimed at an elk a mile and a half away
on the ridge where the Ponderosa
edge the aspen grove.
His brain too beer-added
or Texas over confident
never considers
the unintended consequence of a miss
and the shot’s trajectory
toward our dream house
at the dead end of a six mile dirt road.
The thud of the bullet’s arrival
occurred two full seconds
before the report of the rifle
to raise my head from weeding
the vegetable garden,
to observe the red blossom
on my beloved’s white peasant shirt
with that stunned look vacating her eyes
just before she toppled
and her hand let go of three clothes pins
and my purple Northwestern t-shirt.