RUNNER UP
The Last Time I Hung With Baby D and Them Poem by Sakinah Hofler
The twins— those grinning gangsters never seen without chains tethered around their necks and wrists, hold gold guns that glisten against the clever silver sky. Do you want to hold one? I grip the grip and for a moment I get deer hunting—that transition from boy to man or even girl to woman, like Latonia B. who took the life of Mikey because she wanted to see what it was like. In Newark, we don’t bawl over felled fawns or ferry home trophies—we’ve figured out how to run without the chase or racetrack, how to turn off our eyes, zipper our mouths, and lose our memories. It is always open season and our stars are mere exhausted streetlights. And here, Baby D’s hand strokes my ass then settles for my lower back as he whispers, you got to get more skin on the grip to get rid of that sympathetic reflex in your hands. You’ve got to hold it tight to really see. I place my finger on the trigger and shut my eyes. I pull. And I see. How easy it is.
Sakinah Hofler is a PhD student and a Yates Fellow at the University of Cincinnati. In 2017, she won the Manchester Fiction Prize; previously she had been shortlisted for the Manchester Poetry Prize. Her poetry has appeared in Hayden’s Ferry Review, Eunoia Review, and Counterexample Poetics. A former chemical and quality engineer, she now spends her time teaching and writing fiction, screenplays, and poetry.
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