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
