Vox Populi
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Daniel Lawless: The Gun My Sister Killed Herself With
Was a cubit long and weighed half as much
As an average newborn U.S. baby.
Who sold it to her remains a matter of police conjecture,
A “collector,” most likely, or a fiend in need
Of cash—no receipt ever surfaced.
What she did between the time she got it and the act
Adds little to the picture: coffee at McDonalds,
A few words exchanged with a balding man in an Army
Jacket outside the 7-Eleven on Broadway, no phone calls,
No letter. When my mother got the news
She was hanging sheets to dry on the backyard
Clothesline—neighbors heard her
Cry two blocks over and thought a cat had died.
(Where, exactly, Father spent that afternoon: c.f.
Conjecture.) How Irish-pretty she was, pale, petite,
Kind, smart and slyly funny are duly noted now on
Her birthday, in photographs and little tales
That end in tears that end in silence: we the cage
And Rilke’s panther pacing there, a thousand bars
And beyond the bars no world but why.
Copyright Daniel Lawless, 2018. From The Gun My Sister Killed Herself With (Salmon Poetry, 2018). Included in Vox Populi by permission of the author.
Daniel Lawless is the Founder and Editor-in-Chief of Plume: A Journal of Contemporary Poetry. He lives in St. Petersburg, Florida.
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This one hit home, with a jab at our collective culpability.
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So very moving. And an indictment.
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Yes, it is.
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I just want to hug everyone who has lost someone to suicide or to guns. Nothing I can say seems enough.
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Oh, we seem to be completely powerless in the face of our corrupt legislatures.
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This one hurts, as should be – hurt and anger.
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Yes, hurt and anger. We’ve all had these feelings in our grief.
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Such deep, deep sorrow. If you haven’t bought the book The Gun My Sister Killed Herself With — do. I bought it two years ago and still can’t put it “away” on my bookshelves, feeling it must not be forgotten. Daniel, Sean, Michael, I send you love — hold you, kindly, in my heart.
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As we do you, dear Laure-Anne.
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I almost didn’t read this poem, because of the melodramatic title, but then, oh, I’m glad I did. Daniel evokes this sister’s life and person in such plainspoken, painstaking, local detail, and tells how the family still tries to remember her with tact and love. All you who lost siblings to suicide, my sincere sympathy and sorrow. The poem speaks with special urgency to you.
You have a typo in line 4, I think. Friend, not fiend? It’s odd how those two words are so close.
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Thanks, Maura. I think that “fiend” refers to a dope fiend in need of cash, but the poet purposely plays on the cliche “a friend in need”.
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My sister destroyed her life until it destroyed her. It is difficult to give praise to a poem of sorrow—as if one is complimenting sadness and loss. Forgive me as I do so.
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I understand, Sean. My sister killed herself with a handgun as well. This is a story that’s been repeated across the country, and this is the reason why Danny’s poem is important not only for the beauty of its craft but also for the way it captures the grief of a nation.
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It is painfully true as soon as it is written, poetry can represent the pain of many. This is his ethical task. Even if it hurts on a personal level. Thank you, anyway.
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Well-said, Marina.
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