Worthy of a Godfather sequel,
he shows me what dignity his grandfather
preserved in the basement larder.
Empty of normal harvest, decades
of plums, green beans, tomatoes
glistening in their ancient juices,
there are only two jars, stuffed
with rags to obscure their contents.
One holds a disassembled pistol,
the prized “lupara” he speaks so fondly of,
screws gone, metal’s sheen degraded
to rusting pallor, each part lovingly
swaddled, not for quick need,
burglar rattling the back door,
but something carefully considered,
casual stroll downstairs,
selecting that jar among others,
ceremony of snap and polish.

In the jar beside it are six ancient bullets,
gun powder damp, lead tips blunted.
Corrosion marks both sharp talismans,
stored in secret to keep a man’s family safe,
now evidence of the old ways, old appearances,
how conflicts were resolved before my
boyfriend was born, habit of façade he inherited,
rusty guns, threat unsupported by his society.
His aim was true, yes. Execution?
Asserting dominance
in a world of faulty currents,
stumbling echoes from an empty chamber,
bullets without spark on
the day he most needs them.

Long Islander by birth, CHERYL A. RICE has lived in New York’s Hudson Valley for over forty years. She has been active in Calling All Poets, Poetry Society of Woodstock, Albany Poets, and the Hudson Valley Writers Guild.  Rice is founder/host of the now-defunct Sylvia Plath Bake-Off, an annual tribute held from 1993 to 2002. Publications include Love’s Compass (Kung Fu Treachery Press), Until The Words Came (Post Traumatic Press), Moses Parts the Tulips (APD Press), and My Minnesota Boyhood (Post Traumatic Press). Rice took First Prize in the 2016 Stephen A. DiBiase Poetry Prize. Her blog is at: http://flyingmonkeyprods.blogspot.com/.