Holes of War

War leaves holes in things that cannot be rebuilt- in hearts and minds, lives and life- whole generations have come up missing, whole lifetimes have passed with no end to battle.

What holes have I left? What lives have I destroyed without paying a glance? What words have I said, evils have I done that impress themselves on others' hearts? I have failed to answer so many calls, failed to grab so many hands that were outstretched to me. My grief could consume a more compassionate woman, but my heart has hardened, familiar with my failings. I maintain I have never succeeded and if I have it was not enough to fill the holes I've created.

My hands grow bloody when I sop up the mess, when I try to cover gaping wounds with nothing but a hankerchief. The blood runs downhill to the river, to where the women go to bathe their children.