You were always the handy one, but you were out of town. I rifled through the garage—sanctuary where you claimed to lift weights but where I knew you smoked and played games on your phone. I was looking for some tool: flathead screwdriver, adjustable wrench. What I found instead in your workbench: dozens of empty bottles still wrapped in brown bags. Behind them, a box of bullets. I shook it like a gift, one we’d open together when you came home. I laid it back to rest in its drawer. What was it I came in here looking for?
Jennifer Perrine is the author of four books of poetry: Again, The Body Is No Machine, In the Human Zoo, and No Confession, No Mass. www.jenniferperrine.org Instagram: @jenniferperrinewrites