Opener

The wound is gushing,

letting the life drain out of me,

and I look at you,

kneeling next to me,

your own shirt bundled into your hands,

pressed against my side,

trying,

trying to get the blood to stop.

Your head is against my arm,

one hand bracing itself on my knee.

I notice,

all of a sudden,

the wound has become your own.

I look at you with a sort of indifference,

the fact that you are bleeding,

doesn't stop me

and that is hard for me to accept.

All the same,

I pull my shirt over my head,

use my hands to bunch it up,

and place it against your side.

-

We made it to the other side, I think.