by John Pring

In the memory the boy is exhausted,
held by the throat like a gathering
of wildflowers. As children we fired
our rifles into the water,
and on seeing the bodies
of bream and rudd, cried for God
to revive them. To be a man, my father said,
you must learn the concept
of permanence, his blade paused
midway through
the animal’s neck, our faces
long and lit by flame.

John Pring is a poet and author based in the United Kingdom, where he is an MFA candidate at Manchester Metropolitan University. He has poems published or upcoming in Cordite Poetry Review, Epiphany, The Comstock Review, B O D Y, South Florida Poetry Journal, Meniscus, Months To Years, Poetics, The Passionfruit Review, and others.