Women & Children First by Sonia Greenfield

When the wind changes direction,
smoke shifts from the fires, so sometimes
it’s burning tires in my face, other times
it’s meat. Reader, I have done what I can
for you. Gave you my extra Sig
& taught you how to shoot; showed you
which mushrooms are safe to eat; even
trained you to avoid congregations
of carrion flies & the decay they make
love to. If food was plentiful, I shared it.
If the moon only shone on empty woods
or handfuls of bright sequins drummed up
by breeze across the lake, we laughed at
nothing in particular. Now, there’s a menace,
a madman pulling off each fence board
at the rear of the yard & I’m crouching
with you, a few bullets left between us.
Reader, I have this child clinging to my leg,
his eyes crazed with fear, his sweaty face
flecked with dirt. The sounds of splintering
wood & hound-like baying make our hackles
rise. You look to me for help, but my field
of vision narrows, only able to take in
the one I would kill to save. I love you,
but you know how it must be. Grab your
gun, Reader. Run, Reader. Lakshmi Singh
says the hordes are on the move &
from this point on you’re dead to me.

Sonia Greenfield lives with her husband and son in Los Angeles where she edits the Rise Up Review and co-directs the Southern California Poetry Festival. Her book, Boy with a Halo at the Farmer’s Market, won the 2014 Codhill Poetry Prize. Her work has appeared in 2010 Best American Poetry, The Bellevue Literary Review, Cimarron Review, Cream City Review, The Massachusetts Review, and Rattle, among others.