Sheila McMullin: Writing, Editing, Community

Half a Pill | A Poem

Half a Pill


The day woke up with a (*)

not a star, but a satellite.

We drove through New Mexico; yes


We saw the adobe cliff dwellings; no


You were leaving home; yes


Someone was running away; sure


Then you, my mother, told me, an (I),

while driving:


when I was in my twenties

I thought if there was a gun around

I might have held it toward myself


Then my mother, the you, said:


my sister also said, we think because of our mother; (I)

feared * and (I) held *


(I) interrupted * :


many people have that thought; sure

around dangerous objects; yes


My tongue dried like killing myself

had never come into my own before; no

not out of my mouth


my heart pushing against the seat belt

wrenching against my sternum

hips confined as a passenger

bruised at their points


How scared this makes me; yes

that I would need to silence the conversation

could not move the I out of the parentheses

the possibility of, not the act.


We drove through New Mexico; yes

from water to wash the echoes out




First published in Counterexample Poetics.

Jellyfish Swim

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This entry was posted on September 5, 2014 by in Poetry.

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