days bunch up in weeks collaborating months

I have nothing to say really other than it's been pretty hectic yet calm around here. I have so many things to do, lots of books to read, a project to finish (that means a research paper to write) and a house to clean.

What I do have is a poem that I want opinions on. Of course. What else?


how is it, that you can
see what isn't there,
a hole in the whole?
hear what hasn't been
said, the silence that
reverberates?

what is it, in the missing
pieces, that allows
them to exist? I listen to the
silence, hearing the music
that it makes.
I look at holes, they
are objects in themselves.

how is it, that emptiness
is something, is filled and complete and
heavy?


It goes with my current story, one I'm working on in my very little spare time and when I'm not writing my other story. It's actually more depressing than it seems, when it's in context.

But that would make sense since (it's repetitive!) it's about a girl who's mother commits suicide (me and you, Caroline, need to stop using the same brain wave. Because this not only is coincidental with the Twyla story, but this is the one I wrote the same day you wrote that one thing...weird, I know) and in the suicide letter, her mother tells her that her father is alive and where he lives. So she goes to North Carolina to see him even though she's never met him. It's a happy sad kind of thing.

But anyway, opinions?

♥heather