TWO POEMS

COLLEEN HARRIS

DECISIONS, DECISIONS

The rifle stands
in the corner
like a petulant child.
With my hand on the stock,
I feel the chill wind
of my father’s shadow.
When I look down the barrel,
I smell oil and relief.
The rifle is a younger
brother waiting to see
if he will hunt with
his sister, or bury her.

A Subdivision They Named Marehaven

The houses watched me
pull to a stop, lined up
like good soldiers ready
to march, ready to be sold.
The streets were named
for Derby-winning horses.
A large horse farm was sold
so these homes could be built.
When I step onto one lawn,
perfectly manicured grass
tugs at my ankle, asks where
the bees have gone, asks if
I have seen any hungering foals.