Holes— a Free Verse Poem Response

#POMprompt 4 — Intrusions

Child-sized hole in my living room wall. The intrusion of truth, packed in with syrupy lies.

Hole in my bedroom wall, this one I saw him do. He could not explain that one away.

Holes in my life, shattered like drywall in the midst of his anger.

Holes can be repaired — but not before lies must cover them, with excuses, with stories; spackling with shame is a terrible way to repair.

I covered up holes. In the wall. The ones on my face, my eyes, my ears, my mouth (that one must stay shut, right?)

I painted them over in carefully selected shades of buttery-white, eggshell finish, easy to clean.

Holes. You can fall through holes if you aren’t careful. Legs, arms, heart — right through holes in the wall into spaces of black that do not see the light.

Lies are best kept in the darkness anyway. Falling in is convenient. It spares us the explanation.

If I could go back, for only a moment, I’d leave those holes, take you both by your little hands, put you in a Red Ryder wagon and walk down the street.

I’d make sure you had on your jackets and toboggans and had a toy in each hand. We’d walk and point out the birds in the trees, the clouds drifting by.

We’d walk to safety, together, in a place with no holes, only windows to the outside, where dreams are free to float like air-born seeds on the wind.

I would tell you everything is going to be ok, if only there was a hole through which I could climb to take me back to those days.

This poem is a part of POMwrimo and a response to POMprompt #4:

If you enjoyed this poem, here is another poem about the same time of my life. It is a bit more difficult to read but it is the most honest, heart-breaking, and cathartic poem I have ever written: Consent.

Christina Ward 💗 is a poet and nature writer who also writes about family, love, life, and sometimes, as in this poem — regret.

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