Back to Issue Ten.

Sonnet for Dzhokhar Tsarnaev

BY WILL STOCKTON

 

Under the white tarp of this Watertown boat,
I tell you your joke: Goes Car. In it sit 
Dagestani. Chechen. Ingush. Question, 
who is driving?
 Do you know where you’ll go 
when you die? The police. But your ear, sweet, 
is leaking. Blood angles your face, brother. 
I heal death with my tongue, lick your English 
and kiss it clean. Brother now, I whisper, 
to Shut the fuck up. Moment of silence, 
and I listen for ticking. For the sounds 
of Boston angel trumpets. Wrestling coach.
Police. The sound of you in a singlet 
slamming boys smack on mats. Crushing brothers. 
Your arm hooks over the edge: my boy, released.

 

 

Stockton 10

Will Stockton teaches English at Clemson University. With D. Gilson, he is the author of Crush (Punctum Books) and Gay Boys Write Straight Porn (Sibling Rivalry Press). His poems have appeared in journals such as Assaracus, Bloom, Fourth River, PANK, and Weave Magazine. His book Brimstone is forthcoming from Queer Young Cowboys.