Nicholas Fuenzalida
CONDITIONAL [FALL 2009]
if he hadn’t planned to go hunting with his father
if his father had kept the rifle locked away
if that day had been overcast, a variation in our state of sun
if I hadn’t been in a distant country
if lightning rods didn’t have to watch the storm clouds come
if the air took shape as a barrier, and not a field for the bullet to seed
if someone was in the house when he came home
if he could step outside his grief
if his twin brother hadn’t left
if we hadn’t stopped talking after an argument
if I could remember what the argument was about
if my father called to tell me what happened
if I didn’t learn about the funeral until two weeks after
if everything happens for a reason
if this wasn’t the first of many deaths my parents passed off as accidents
if they could see violence for what it is
if there is a waterfall inside every well
if contrails in the sky don’t cross
if forgiveness is a hole I could find myself in
Nicholas Fuenzalida is originally from Colorado but now lives in New York. His work has appeared in The Indianola Review, Bodega, Rust+Moth, Potluck Magazine and elsewhere.
Read more from Cleaver Magazine’s Issue #16.
