By Karen Kilcup
How do they do it—
lift a heavy head
and place the bomb
beneath an ear? Slide
the metal disc under
a shoulder or thigh?
Or worse: do they slice
the swollen
long-dead chest, flies
fluttering, the stink
unbearable, nearly?
Do they carve
a red-rimmed cavity
large enough to implant
the device, which mimics
a hockey puck, a nippled breast?
How could they tuck it in?
How could they close the
hole, back away,
hope for the best?
A teacher and writer for more than forty years, Karen Kilcup is the Elizabeth Rosenthal Professor of American Literature, Environmental & Sustainability Studies, and Women’s, Gender, & Sexuality Studies at UNC Greensboro. She feels fortunate to work with many students of color, first-generation students, and LGBTQI+ students at this Minority-Serving Institution. Their courage and imagination inspire her and give her hope. Her forthcoming book, winner of the 2021 Winter Goose Poetry Prize, is titled The Art of Restoration.
Photo credit: Chi Wai Un via a Creative Commons license.
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A tip of my poet’s hat and my veteran’s cap to Karen Kilcup. The best part of this poem seems to me to be the “how could they,” initially understood as a literal, practical extension of “how did they,” before it comes to be a recrimination. How could anyone with any decency use this deceit to kill. The poem also has nice, enriching subtleties, like the life-affirming heart and breast coming to the poet’s mind as she notes the mutilation of the corpse needed to hide the explosive. I was put in mind of a 1980s documentary about a USAF ballistic missile installation at Cheyenne Mountain. The interviewer asked a moral question of a young airman stationed at a firing mechanism, something close to “Would it be difficult for you to launch this nuclear missile against a city like Moscow?” The young man replied, proud of his training, something like, ” No, it would be easy! Just switch this toggle, and then toggle this switch, and push this button.”