Poetry by Carrie Gilstrap-Nettle

Dear Ginnie,

and the rest of the screen is white,

White. A void

where three bullets replaced matter

with space.

What did they sound like?

To you?

The bullets?

They had to of moved differently than John

how he worked his way

into your life, slow and dark,

pulled you below the surface.

Those twelve years with him,

did you stay alive in your head at least?

Which part of you died first?

Was it sight? Hearing?

Was it memory?

Which part of you died first?

When the bullets slashed

through like his words, “You

will never leave me Gin.”, like his bullets

“You will never leave.”

But you have.

And you’ve left

voids.