Sarah J. Den Boer

WENT TO THE GUN RANGE WITH YOU.

Packed chicken sandwiches
in plastic bags, cheap wine
in a thermos, and my deepest
red lipstick. Left the butter
on the counter, knives
in the sink. I wore a camisole

the color of tornado clouds,
draped over collarbones
throbbing from my recent
fall down the back steps.
Like we were in such a hurry
that we set twenty alarm clocks

or had chocolate fondue
at midnight. You must have
felt it too because there was
nothing to dissolve. Holed up
in a booth together. Stomachs
bloated from the smoked

salmon the night before.
Crack of my stiletto heels
on the green tiles. Your arms
reaching around me at tight angles,
arm hair like ten thousand
spider legs. Cocking the gun.

9 mm and thick as a potato
in the throat. Bullets tearing
through gossamer like a light switch
flipped on. We knew where
we were going but had no compass.
You said it wouldn’t last.

Sarah J. Den Boer was born and raised on the west coast of Canada. She received her M.A. in Creative Writing from the University of Illinois-Chicago. Currently, she is pursuing her Ph.D. at the University of South Dakota. Her work has previously appeared in Brick & Mortar Review and is forthcoming in The Pedestal Magazine and Siren.