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"Woven Energy" by Perrin Clore Duncan

butterfly bullet by Fargo Tbakhi

for Razan al-Najjar

​                 “Razan was shot in her chest with live ammunition, the single
                   bullet escaping through a hole in the back of her vest... Known
                   as the "butterfly bullet", it explodes upon impact, pulverising
                   tissue, arteries and bone, while causing severe internal
                   injuries.” -Al Jazeera
​
as if a bullet could alight
                on the edge of a finger

as if a bullet could appear in a garden
                as the resurrection of a loved one,
                divine coincidence minutes after
                spitting your eyes to heaven
                begging to see them again

as if a bullet fluttered,
                did not go exactly where it was meant to

as if a bullet was anything more
                than a grain of explosion, as if it
                was good for anything but atrocity,
                anything but unleashing artery, but ripping out
                everything, gut-spilled, empty mouth

as if a bullet could be delicate, as if
                it could be beautiful

as if a rage-hot hunk of metal could flap its wings
                and start a hurricane, as if
                act of god did not belong
                to her eyelashes,
                her inhale


                                                                          /


as if a butterfly
                would ever kiss
                                 the curve of her neck,
                 flap its wings and cause
                                 her father to pallbear her vest in his hands,
                 spit this
                                  was her weapon


as if a butterfly would enter her chest
                 grace from her back
                                  and leave any trace apart
                 from newness of language (choir-rich,
                                   throat-sprung, words for how god tastes), any trace
                 apart from
                                   lightness

as if a butterfly would cause her father to empty
                 her vest’s pockets,
                                   to cemetery her gauze
                 in front of him like an offering, say
                                   this was her weapon,
                 beg heaven for divine coincidence,
                                   in his garden, days after

as if butterflies would wing violence, wing pulverized,
                 as if they did not spring from the soles of her feet,
                                  as if butterflies made burial shroud of headscarf,
                  as if butterflies asked bodies for their nectar,
                                  siphoned it from them and called it accident,
                  as if they did not give life,
                                  as if they took it

Fargo Tbakhi (he/him) is a bi, Palestinian-american performer and writer in phoenix, arizona. his work has been published in Maudlin House, Ghost City Review, and Cotton Xenomorph, and is forthcoming from The Ellis Review, Crab Fat Magazine and Cosmonauts Avenue. he tweets @youknowfargo.

Perrin Clore Duncan, from Oklahoma, graduated from DePauw University in May 2017 with a B.A. in Economics and Studio Art. Her work has been shown and published in Ireland, the United States, and worldwide through online publications. Perrin currently pursues her M.F.A. at the Burren College of Art in Ireland.
​
Visit her on instagram at @perrincloreduncan.art or at her WEBSITE.
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