Hole Self

Out on the edge of things-

edge of comfort, politeness, legality, acceptability, of “what we do”,

there aren’t a lot of arms

holding you.

There aren’t a lot of voices

reassuring you.

Because you’re somewhere

no one’s ever been.

You don’t know.

And you know

you don’t know.

You are leaning, balancing over the edge

toes tingling, gripping.

Hoping to feel some security

about the place that’s here.

The world is burning behind you.

You will surely burn with it,

if you go back.

But it might be a slow burn, smoldering and singeing.

Jumping will be a death too.

You will be changed.

Your children will be changed.

It’s time to jump, or burn.

The swirling clench deep in the belly

wants to scream the walls down.

Help me!

Wants to panic and sob with wild abandon. And throw things across rooms with brick walls-

smashing, breaking, crashing, deafening, blinding, gasping.

This is too hard, maybe it’s a mistake, go back, fall back, fall apart, I can’t do it. Take it away from me. I don’t know how.

You become the gaping, yawning hole

opening over the edge.

How can you hold a hole?

How can a hole fall

into itself?

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