SAMANTHA RICE
A Hole Bridged Between the Loose Sky
If there is beauty in pain, then I have felt it.
My father’s hands guiding me
forward into the midnight light, a figure showing me
my silhouette could run like a river if I just
allowed it. And I did, I ran towards
anything, and everything, until my body
cast into fire and I was alone there waiting
for my own life. I don’t have much to offer
in this life, so I have given men, the only
thing that is singing inside me. Music.
And they have listened and sat beside me;
older, younger, wiser and more tender, with
enough stars to keep my limbs from
breaking. Always there was a beginning
and an end and I went and I came back.
And I came back to the original hole bridged
between the loose sky; crawled deep
back into the hole my father created,
staying there until the storm passed.
And was over.
220 The Paris-American
If there is beauty in pain, then I have felt it.
My father’s hands guiding me
forward into the midnight light, a figure showing me
my silhouette could run like a river if I just
allowed it. And I did, I ran towards
anything, and everything, until my body
cast into fire and I was alone there waiting
for my own life. I don’t have much to offer
in this life, so I have given men, the only
thing that is singing inside me. Music.
And they have listened and sat beside me;
older, younger, wiser and more tender, with
enough stars to keep my limbs from
breaking. Always there was a beginning
and an end and I went and I came back.
And I came back to the original hole bridged
between the loose sky; crawled deep
back into the hole my father created,
staying there until the storm passed.
And was over.
220 The Paris-American
