The misfire

You’re the dead note on

My keyboard

In every tune I play

The hollow space beneath my step

The window gap

Where the wind always whines

I cannot get it closed up tight

No matter how I try

The one plate left out of the dishwasher

When I swore I counted every one

I missed it

I missed you

What I really mean to say

Is you’re the stitch dropped in my knitting

But it’s round the back

And I can’t see it

Just feel the cold breeze

Point of loss

Something uncovered

The prickle in my sock

The sound at the door

That isn’t a knock

And there’s no one there

When I go to look

You aren’t the sound of rain

But the silence between storms

You are the shadow flitting on the ground

But when I look up there is no bird

No plane

You’re the sound

And the feeling of something slipping


And yet I know in my heart

The scar where you were

Will always stay


All these things

I cannot


Because they are lodged behind my tongue

Loaded in a gun

That was broken

Thrown away

And never really used

In the first place

A misfire

With blank bullets

This I knew.

Yet I shot myself anyway

Still do

16 thoughts on “The misfire

  1. Kate… This struck me so deep. I resonated so much with some of the words you used. I love the rhythm and word play of “You aren’t the sound of rain But the silence between storms.” Wonderful. Thank you.

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