Flower Shaped Bullet

By Cara Pleym

Flower shaped bullet

in that it bloomed in my chest

took home in my breath

and beat me with each instead

every version

every permutation

every mutilation

where these roots grew a different truth.

One not in service to you

or me

or her

or that lonely little girl

but a battle honed edge

the kind where blades sing

gulls keen

we wipe the blood from our cheeks

and honour the dead

tears silver in a sacrifice worth making.

A destruction which births

from ashen aging earth

a new story

a martyr

an era of enlightenment

something to show the gods

when they ask for our passports

of how we were custodians

of a fragile system

which needs to see the flowers

and sun

and kindness and love

because the view’s always a little murky

from so high above.

I can still detect each metal piece

but more so when I forget to breathe

and the bands wrap deeper

seeking

stronger host

for future growth

petal powered draw

rose powdered flaws

but isn’t the scent intoxicating?

Like rust

like blood

like delivering death in payment

to open a gateway

for something new

unbruised

hoping

for a better life

than her sister before.

We build best from the floor.