fingering

i’m fingering the exit wound
of your bullet.
wondering why i never felt
the point of entry.

how the hole is just big enough
for me to fit my
index finger into my own flesh,
just a quarter of an inch or so.
how you stare at me, wide eyed
unable to speak because
you didn’t know i too,
was flesh and blood.

For Dana
August 22, 2008