I have a hole in my right breast?
What can feel it?
Money, tenderness, the coo
of a three-month old child?
Can conversing with the cold
wind, an old acquaintance
fill this crevasse that burdens
What if I thought of my grandparents,
whom I’ve never really known, now
lost to the ages and death, and to the bosom
What if I thought of God,
The lord almighty,
The maker of heaven and earth,
the one who only answers when
pain is no longer a backdrop.
Time, distractions, money, and exhaustions
will briefly cover the pit, but they will skin in,
like dirt on a pothole
and I will wander once more.