From Her Notes

My last Sabbath,
I follow the girls, who sneak into
the wedding

tent, scattered with sun
flower seeds and remnants of
celebration. They

each stand up on a   
table. Take a crushed beer can
as a microphone,

sing and move their
fifteen-year-old hips. I watch,
clap for them, until

a small face peers in
the door. A boy. His face white
with something. The door

slamming, his very small
fist holding it shut, having
found what was inside

wrong. Enough, I tell
him; enough! He leaves. The girls
dance again, but less

bold. Look: the boy
has come back, is looking you
hard in the eye, through

the crack of the door.
There, in his hand, a neon
plastic BB

gun. He does this for
his grandmother and for his
son.

Copyright Credit: Nomi Stone, “From Her Notes” from Stranger’s Notebook. Copyright 2008 Nomi Stone. Reprinted by permission of TriQuarterly Books.
Source: Stranger’s Notebook (TriQuarterly Books, 2008)