The Box

I took the gun out of the box
And turned gently it in my hands.
It felt smooth and warm to touch.
But I’d not had much use for it
Nor ever handled it that much.

I thumbed a single round
Into the magazine
Then slammed the cartridge home
Jacked the slide back to charge it
When my mind began to roam.

It took me to that night
In Blytheville
Many long years ago
When she said those wicked things
And she needed me to go.

Then I went back to that time
She said she wanted a divorce
And told me it was a mistake
To think
Love was something she could force.

I felt the checkered grips
Beneath my
Clammy, sweaty palm
My finger tensing on the trigger
But my mind focused and calm.

A parade of bitter memories
Filed by, one at a time
Each one worse than the last
And my pulse began to quicken
As each remembrance slithered past.

I felt the cold muzzle against my temple
Squeezed my eyes tightly shut
Took the slack up on the trigger
When a single word came from heaven
Something impossible to figure.

It was not a word heard by my ears
But one understood within my heart
That single word was “Don’t!”
I turned my face to God
And softly said, “I won’t.”

I did not really want to do this
I was just so incredibly sad.
I laid the gun down on the floor
And I cried a little while
Feeling heartbroken, weak and poor.

That was a long time ago
And it seems impossible today
I ever was that man
Who forgot how to walk
Much less how to stand.

But God uses time and love
To regenerate the heart.
He understands how to heal
And showed me that running is easy
Only after I’ve learned to kneel.

I still have the gun.
It’s in a case on my closet floor.
But it’s ironic, don’t you see?
It’s in a box forever now
When there was a time it might have been me.