Why We Shouldn’t Wait

1:45 am

The homicide detective builds on logic; no logic for this couple exists. He can’t understand drunks & guns, the complication of marriage. He shakes his head, another day, another body bag. Grass clippings cling to his pants, glass litters the ground; he can’t tell dew from crime, blood from dew, brain matter from gravel. That changes in the morning. It can wait.

12:30 am

She finally fell asleep at midnight, exhausted by compromises & promises, hands empty, her father’s denial, her mother’s caution, the demands of hearts & lovers.

So, marry me. Marry me now.  His voice,
she hears his voice in waking hours. Between—
she dreams of a white gown bleached un-seamed
& draining lace, the fitted corset moist.
She hears discharge, a gun, shuttered gasp,
another quake, another trap. Her wrists
pressed to glass, and still she resists.
She expects soldiers, blacken trenchcoats collapsed
but sees her lover. Her window crashes glass.
The night stops, the stars spell Marry—
“I’m shot,” she cries & feels nothing, revives
to sterile terrain, doctors, unengaged.
Bullet-brain-pan, squish, a nurse claims.
The fluorescents bright. Why now? She can’t ask.

12:30 pm

He drove to her house carefully, with love in the dark night, stopping at lights & signs, holding the ring tight against the steering wheel, the gun against his thigh, rehearsing his vows.

Marry, marry, marry me— Why should we wait? Why do you ignore me? Gravel, pebbles, messages wrapped, nothing. Mariachis, chocolates, tulips, Twizzlers, Netflix, a house in the suburbs, & still, I can’t convince you. You wear my ring, we need nothing else. Consent? We are consenting. Think Elvis: Two days, three nights; Las Vegas for 69 dollars a day. I only wanted your attention. The gun seemed like the logical solution; smooth, metal convincing.  It certainly caught your attention; awakened in bed, a raid, a sniper, an intruder. No, just your lover shooting the sky. Until your bedroom window crashed. You screamed, “I’m shot” & fell silent. Below, grass clippings mimicked stars, the night was too bright to look up. Bullet to the brain-pan, squish.

6:30 am

The detective, back at light, thinks it could be even sadder than in the dark. Among the glass & grass a ring lies empty, sonnets scattered across the block.

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In 2009 Kara Dorris graduated from New Mexico State University with an MFA in poetry.  Her poetry has appeared in The Tusculum Review, Stirring, ListenLight, Not Just Air, Wicked Alice, Prick of the Spindle, Parcel, Skidrow Penthouse, and others literary journals.