The hole in the wall.
The hole was always there.
I didn't imagine to ask why
because it had been there
for as long as I could remember.
The white, pristine wall was
I could stand on my toes
to see the inner guts of my house.
Dust, wood panels, and a metal bar
that went to I know not where.
The hole in my wall was a peculiar flaw
in my house,
with no explanation as to where it came from.
Some days I wouldn't even notice it,
but other days, it haunted me
to a point of perplexed speechlessness.
I found the courage to muster the words
to ask about the hole's origin.
My mother answered simply,
"Just like you, the hole came from your father,"
The hole remained...
but only just then, did I notice
the hole's creator was nowhere to be found.
The hole in the wall was always there.
My hole in my wall is always there.
The gaping space
disturbs my beautiful white wall.