Bullet Holes


It’s been a while

since she’s been around.

Those muggy, summer nights;

sweat through a fresh set of sheets,

just dreaming of her.


You can’t go back.

Thank God for that.

And you can’t move on,

without knowing where you’re from.

Every hot summer,

I give thanks

for every bullet dodged.


I look around

and all I see

are the holes,

where all the beautiful trajectories

terminated before they found their mark.


In the moment,

it all happens in slow motion,

and it isn’t until afterwards,

sometimes years,

that I wake up

on a hot, summer night,

soaked in my own sweat,

checking my body

for bullet holes

that aren’t there.



HG – 2020


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