Hopper’s Gun, by Heather Nelson

Nighthawks, by Edward Hopper (USA) 1942

Hopper’s Gun

It’s not for nothing
that the kitchen door is closed,
dark eye shut.

If a black line bisects
a coffee urn, at some point
it’s sure to explode.

We’re outside the window
for our protection,
they’re not conscious of our inspection.

Awash in the aqua night,
keep all the players in your sights,
keep your eyes on that door.

Look wherever there isn’t light,
a painter’s sleight of hand
can distract you from the cash.

Looking at your hands, red knuckled,
so absorbed in the bulge and groove
around the wedding band, you don’t move.

The yellow wall warns, be alert to the immediate, 
to the actual smell of your armpits,
fear sour as skim milk.

Any moment you could crash
through the glass, take off your mask,
escape before your face turns to ash.

​Heather Nelson

​Heather Nelson has been a student of poetry since college, where she developed her thesis project under the guidance of CD Wright at Brown University in 1991. She returned to writing in 2011 and has since been published in The Ekphrastic Review, Lily Poetry Review, Spoon River Review and others. She currently leads a local free-write, runs creative writing workshops and hosts a book group in Cambridge, Mass. She has been active in the Boston area literary scene since she began writing, and has taught classes at Grub Street, planned events for Litcrawl, organized author talks and other activities.