149: Red Rover
149: Red Rover
Red Rover
by Claire Wahmanholm
Read the automated transcript.
We are placed in a field.
We are told to wield our bodies
against each other
like wrecking balls or rockets,
to target the weakest links
in the chain
of other children’s bodies⏤
the surfaces of skin
that sweat and twitch
without our willing it,
the millimeters of air
between the palms
that cannot be gripped
into disappearance⏤
and shoot them down.
Rove:
to show signs of madness, to shoot randomly,
to wander,
to run someone through with a weapon.
We pool our redness
like wealth until the final soldier
is caught in the net of our hands,
a limp bird.
Red rover, red rover,
there are worlds
whose waves do not break
against the bodies of children.
There are worlds
of wide, stagnant waters.
Red rover, red rover,
send the boats of our bodies
to float in those fields forever.
Send wings for our arms
unspooling between each other
like barricade tape,
gauze for the crime scenes
of our shadows.
If we are unmendable,
weigh our brokenness
with long sleep.
Cast a spell over us
like a sharp sheet.
As ghosts, we float through each other
like soft sheep, bleating.
"Red Rover" by Claire Wahmanholm, from WILDER by Claire Wahmanholm. Copyright © 2018 by Claire Wahmanholm. Used by permission of Milkweed Editions.