.233 Remington

by luna rey hall



Brother, you are no longer human
in my mind.

I think of you, bullet.
I think of you, death.

At home I roll between
my fingers

& wood table,
a bullet you lent me

to write a poem.
So I could witness

the gaudy brass jacket,
the red lipstick tip.

You are the Remington
under my thumb,

saying I did not ask
for this name,

I did not ask
for skin or muscle.

I do not want
to be some proxy,

some stand-in
for all that you deem wrong.



luna rey hall, born and raised near the Twin Cities, holds an MFA from Pacific University. Their debut collection, loudest when startled, will be published by YesYes Books in 2020. Their poems have appeared in The Florida Review, Moon City Review, Atlanta Review, and Raleigh Review, among others. They currently live in St. Paul, Minnesota.

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