The Black Napkin Volume 1 Issue 3 - Page 20


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.