Kathryn Petruccelli
American Childhood
Patti and I played together every day. Like on
the rusted metal swing set in my backyard–
the bench swing with its two seats facing each other,
where we played "subway," though neither of us
had ever been on one. We were five, six maybe.
Long Island kids who watched too much TV, heard
our parents talk about the city. We played close
to the Meltzers' fence, in case Mrs. Meltzer was outside
and had lollipops. We played around the wood pile
after the big oak came down. I don't remember a tree
missing. In those days they seemed to be everywhere,
huge, hugging us in, guardians. Until the time
Patti wanted to take home the odd piece of log
we both thought looked like a gun. I said no. It was mine;
I'd learned already about possession. About what
held currency beyond the trees. It was the mid-70s,
we were cradled in a valley between–the Kennedys
were dead, Martin, Malcolm. But up the other side
John Lennon and Marvin Gaye still had a few years left
to imagine what was going on. Patti asked again.
I said no again. We fought about it; she rushed away
in tears. I held the gun in my hand, closed one eye,
aimed it at her back as she ran.
the rusted metal swing set in my backyard–
the bench swing with its two seats facing each other,
where we played "subway," though neither of us
had ever been on one. We were five, six maybe.
Long Island kids who watched too much TV, heard
our parents talk about the city. We played close
to the Meltzers' fence, in case Mrs. Meltzer was outside
and had lollipops. We played around the wood pile
after the big oak came down. I don't remember a tree
missing. In those days they seemed to be everywhere,
huge, hugging us in, guardians. Until the time
Patti wanted to take home the odd piece of log
we both thought looked like a gun. I said no. It was mine;
I'd learned already about possession. About what
held currency beyond the trees. It was the mid-70s,
we were cradled in a valley between–the Kennedys
were dead, Martin, Malcolm. But up the other side
John Lennon and Marvin Gaye still had a few years left
to imagine what was going on. Patti asked again.
I said no again. We fought about it; she rushed away
in tears. I held the gun in my hand, closed one eye,
aimed it at her back as she ran.
Exorcism
after mistaking a man lighting a cigarette for someone aiming a gun
Whatever it takes, rid it from my body,
that to which I have not given consent to enter,
this mindset, way of life
that hates life.
I will be pastor and pulpit.
I am the witch and the stake. Blind me
if all I can see is evil. Cleanse from me
this violence I’ve been suckled on, teet shaped
like a trigger. I’ll be the holy water and the basin,
prayer book and incantation, crucifix and rosary.
Cast it out of me like a devil, expel it
like a projectile. Even if after it deserts me
I’m a crumpled husk, nothing
left. Then, let me be empty, useless,
a chamber without its bullets.
Whatever it takes, rid it from my body,
that to which I have not given consent to enter,
this mindset, way of life
that hates life.
I will be pastor and pulpit.
I am the witch and the stake. Blind me
if all I can see is evil. Cleanse from me
this violence I’ve been suckled on, teet shaped
like a trigger. I’ll be the holy water and the basin,
prayer book and incantation, crucifix and rosary.
Cast it out of me like a devil, expel it
like a projectile. Even if after it deserts me
I’m a crumpled husk, nothing
left. Then, let me be empty, useless,
a chamber without its bullets.
--
Kathryn Petruccelli is a Pushcart, Best of the Net, and Best Small Fictions-nominated writer who holds an obsession with the ocean and an MA in teaching English language learners. You can find her work in places like West Trestle Review, Tinderbox, SWIMM, RHINO, Fictive Dream, and SweetLit. She teaches pay-what-you-can workshops, writes the Substack newsletter, Ask the Poet, and hosts the Melody or Witchcraft podcast that discusses literary inspiration and its relevance to today’s issues.
Kathryn Petruccelli is a Pushcart, Best of the Net, and Best Small Fictions-nominated writer who holds an obsession with the ocean and an MA in teaching English language learners. You can find her work in places like West Trestle Review, Tinderbox, SWIMM, RHINO, Fictive Dream, and SweetLit. She teaches pay-what-you-can workshops, writes the Substack newsletter, Ask the Poet, and hosts the Melody or Witchcraft podcast that discusses literary inspiration and its relevance to today’s issues.