The Bullets That Were Close to Me

my friend has a bullet lodged in his leg.

He isn’t a criminal or veteran,

he’d been shot in a hold up at work

He said, “That year I had a lot of therapy,

but getting shot wasn’t the problem.”

My student tells me she can’t come to class anymore

“but you’re here now,” I say.

She opens her jacket,

revealing the bandage wrapping her arm.

“He walked up to my mom and me,

I don’t want to leave home

anymore.”

Another student missed his final,

but his classmates were there,

crying

crying

crying.

“Speedy’s dead.”

and his absence lingers

like an unfinished sentence

I expect to see him in every class

every semester

every school

I’m waiting for it to finish

It’s as if living broken,

for me,

is all any of us

can ask.