After the Pulse shooting, a bullet was taped to the sign of our church by Brooke Lehmann

After the Pulse shooting, a bullet was taped to the sign of our church
               Shotgun shell, racial note taped to Charlotte church sign

The stars were dimly stitched together at night,
fear needling a staccato breath. I stopped
attending service, instead, watched nature
strike like sixteenth notes, quarter beats
of that awful year. The goldfinches hung upside
down, eating seed and thistle. Monarchs perched
on milkweed growing in the wild as the heat swelled,
cicadas shaking like sleighbells. Fawns followed
their mothers around like the born do. At the turn
of the season, I braved the blessing of the animals
on the lawn. We sprinkled holy water on bichons
and shepherds, tawny cats, rabbits, even jade beetles
crawling up jars. We held hands and sang hymns
drifting into the thick air, the leaves of the heavy green
trees clinging to each other, the last light of summer.

*

Brooke Lehmann’s poems have been featured in Poet Lore, Tar River Poetry, Pedestal Magazine, and others. She was longlisted for the 2022 Palette Poetry Sappho Prize for Women Poets, and her chapbook manuscript, Pillar of Exquisite Sorrows, was named a finalist in Tusculum Review’s 2023 Chapbook Prize. Her poem, “Thanksgiving Psalm” was awarded first place in the 2024 Charles Edward Eaton contest for Pinesong. Her debut collection, Of Salt and Song, is forthcoming from Kelsay Books in 2025. Brooke holds a B.S. from Purdue University and is an Arts and Science Council Cultural Leadership Training program graduate. She serves as Poet-In-Residence for Charlotte Center for Mindfulness.