I was once a mountain. I was proud and unmovable. Then one day people came along and decided if they couldn't go around me, they'd carve a hole straight through me. I've been a tunnel ever since; just a place for traffic to move through, never able to stop and always holding their breath. I am hollow and always hoping that one day, all of the cars get stuck inside so that for one more time I can know the feeling of being whole. One day when I am old and unsteady, the tunnel will be shut down and I will be empty for the rest of my life, or perhaps I'll cave in on myself, and then I will be whole, not unbroken, but whole. Maybe, just maybe, they will fill me in. The same people who carved me out will pump concrete into my belly and fix their mistakes. But, I'm a strong mountain, they say, what do I care?
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Growing Out My Hair Again
PoetryA poetry book for people recovering from trauma, for survivors, lovers, and people who aren't sure about their place in the world.
