Arrow

When I saw he’d have to take an overnight boat
to Hades, I knew he couldn’t handle the soot.

I was like Give me a bow right here I’ll shoot
a hole in the ground
with my feathers all knit up.

It is my gift to help a man pass over
down a black and newly-shot hole.

A hole does seem poor consolation for age
so he always cries out like a bell on a tree.

But men are dirt servants making movements in the dark
and they know the steps of every wormy dance.

In his heart baby monsters beat an old milk pail
singing This is all you get and it is enough.

Melissa Broder is the author of two poetry collections, Meat Heart (March 2012) and When You Say One Thing but Mean Your Mother. Recent poems appear, or are forthcoming, in Guernica, Redivider, The Missouri Review online, Court Green and Drunken Boat. She edits the online journal La Petite Zine.

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