Tell me a Beautiful Way by Elizabeth DeBunce

a bullet tears

into the body. Tears

the mind down

from where it drifted

listless in that airy,

penetrating light.

Lying beside him

on the ground, I imagine

the hole it would make

in his chest. A hole

where my hand rests,

below his right clavicle.

Boring almost, the lack of color

pooling, and how symmetrical

this destruction. If I traced it

with my finger, if I traced

every hole ever shot through.

Could I unwind the loss

by holding it

in my gaze, by shouting

a body’s name, by finding

the right words to tell.

They see and do not speak.

His life is meaningless

to the people

Who pulled the trigger?

What is life

now

if not

the circle of flesh, bit of bone

where a bullet

could carve a hole.

When I saw the video

of him, lying there, no blood,

barely any blood at all,

and they asked Is he alive?

A beaten heart beating

would spread thin the

blood. But I saw no blood,

barely any blood at all.

No. No.

What’s the beautiful way

to tell of the bullet hole

and who pulled the trigger

so the people will demand more.

Elizabeth DeBunce is a writer from Southern Oregon with a double major in English and Classical Studies from Lewis & Clark College. She enjoys listening to The Mountain Goats and currently lives in Portland, Oregon. She was the recipient of the 2017 Lewis and Clark College Fiction Prize, and her poetry has previously appeared in (parenthetical): the zine, The Gold Man Review, Words Dance, Heart and Mind Zine, Glass Mountain, and The Timberline Review. You can find her on Instagram at @theproperverb, on Youtube at theproperverb, and on Patreon: patreon.com/elizabethdebunce.