By Cintia Santana
“How Does This Compare with Other Mass Shootings?
—New York Times, June 12, 2016
On one hand, I hold the iPhone,
all news made small, and
on the other, your hand,
by which I also mean
the memory of your breath,
tracing my face
as morning opened around us.
How do I hold this world’s bullets
and the strands of sutured light
the blinds cast on your chest?
There are wounds that never close.
Bridges rebuilt in the wake of fire.
Everything is for sale.
Every day another app.
This poem first appeared in The Kenyon Review, XXXIX.5 [2017].
About the Author
Cintia Santana teaches fiction and poetry workshops in Spanish, as well as literary translation courses, at Stanford University.
Bullets into Bells 