This one sounds like it could be going for some kind of bathetic parody. Maybe it needs the title to make a difference--imagine if it were called "Abortion." "Diet." "Grief." "Lipo."
There’s a hole in my middle
that nothing can fill. A hole I notice
because it is
a hole.
Air or water or love or lettuce
might rush in. Or doughnuts.
But it will still be a hole,
because what is meant to be there
is me.
Not mouth, not postbox, not portal.
It is a true void. Me minus
part of me.
How much of me can be gone
and still leave me here?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment