Black Poems

My hole and me

I am in this shallow hole and I can’t get out.

I hear the voices of people talking and laughing.

But I can’t get out.

No and so often I can peek over the edge.

People talk, laugh, and live their lives.

I see their actions. Their mouths move, their hands express.

But I can’t get out.

Others come and stand on my edge.

They peek in, nothing but irritation in their eyes.

What is she doing? What is wrong?

We need her. This is bloody inconvenient.

Look at her. She should be able to take care of herself.

I back away against the wall and apologize

I am sorry to take up your time.

Never mind. I am okay. Go on.

I put on my mask and smile.

I’ll be there in a sec.

Just give me a minute. I need to take my hole.

Some days I am able to stand up and lift myself out of it.

I forget it is there.

I enjoy the children. Love my husband. Live my life.

But in the end there is always something that cripples me.

And suddenly the hole is back.

Enveloping me. Shackling me down to the sand.

My tears mix with the sand and suck me in.

They try to pull me under.

But I am still strong enough to resist.

I have learned to float well.

I know I need to get out.

My children now crawl down my hole. To hold me. To comfort me.

Suddenly my hole doesn’t seem so empty.

But then the guilt sets in.

They shouldn’t be in here. They might get trapped or worse, get buried.

Instead of motivating me to get out,

This realization suffocates my every intention.

I am fixed in this hole.

And I can’t get out.