Friday, September 21, 2012


Kill Shot
My hands are sweating. I don’t know if it’s because of the 45 Magnum in my hand or the pressure of his hand at the dip of my low back. I turn to look at my ‘date’ and instantly get reprimanded to look at the target. I refocus, check that I’m avoiding ‘limp wrist,’ slow my breathing and squeeze the trigger. I jump despite bracing for the gunfire and the hot shell casing flashing out. He informs me I hit in the black. A kill shot.
He’s happy. I’m terrified.
I think of how little pressure it took to send a bullet blazing at my paper target and immense relief that somehow the bullet didn’t richochet to kill someone in the room, particularly my date. Good men are hard to find at this age.
Thoughts begin to fire in rapid assault. I’m divorced and attempting to date in my 40s as a mother with three kids and a responsible job. What am I doing at an indoor shooting range pretending I have time to date? What am I thinking?  
I refocus, slow my breathing and squeeze the trigger.  
      I’m thinking it feels good to have sweaty palms.


     It was a moment of disorientation.   Last week, out on my usual running route, i decided to mix it up and run the route backwards.  Not backwards as in turning myself around so that I could see where I had been, (I am truly not that graceful - even though a running coach once had me doing that for a few paces because it uses different muscles) but backwards, as in the opposite direction.  Instead of turning right at the stop sign, I turned left and started running at what was usually the end. 
    Lost in my running reverie and mulling over all my little troubles, I came to myself and realized that I had no idea where I was.  In the middle of a route I had run hundreds of times, I was completely disoriented - all because I was running in a different direction. The houses and streets looked different from this side and I wasn’t sure where to turn.  I quickly re-oriented myself, but I was struck by how much difference a simple reversal of the view made.  It was a completely different perspective.
     Perhaps, we just need to turn around and walk the other way for a few minutes. Mix things up. It may be all we need for a fresh perspective.


What a wonder to find
Etched in the sand
The same geography that lies
Just beneath my skin.

Veins and capillaries,
Open like a science book illustration,
Carrying liquid life
To and from the source.

But scattered about,
Obstructing, interrupting the flow,
A few shell corpses
Will not be ignored.

Nothing for me to do
But take notice, and remember
That in such juxtapositions
May be the signature of the Creator.


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