Classic Poem

The bullet entered between the eyes,
a hole like a punctuation mark
from an AK-47 or M-16,
white at the edges but glistening black,
a tunnel straight to the brain.
That's what I saw when I picked her up

before crushed veins reopened, blood
began to cover my shirt, reflex
covered the hole with my hand,
and I started calling for help.

It was only a child's fall on a rock;
it only took three stitches to close,
but I couldn't look at my daughter
for months without seeing that hole:
I'd seen holes like that before,
but never on someone alive.