Melanie Brandt
Vacuum

A hole

devoid of

its contours

as it sucks in

in a forever yawn,

but there is no exhale

there is no breath that allows us

to settle for a moment

there is no sweet repose

from that empty space

that was so clearly inhabited

in time

there is no physical space

but only the absence

of what

of whom

pushed against the vacuum

insisted on his presence

and kicked away the darkness

with each word

and each disturbance of that space

that retreated only enough

to allow a presence

to curl around the hands

that shaped the clay,

and the feet

that stomped through the muddied puddles,

and the mouth

that chewed through deep

dark silences,

whose traces now beg

to be celebrated

to be acknowledged

to fill the

empty space

with a song and a yowl

to be Whole.