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

me?

 

What if I thought of my grandparents,

whom I’ve never really known, now

lost to the ages and death, and to the bosom

of God?

 

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.