Steve Gehrke
The Hole
When I did dialysis at home, they drilled
a hole in the bottom of one of my walls,
through which they ran the tubes
that carried the water used during treatments
from the bathroom to the machine and back,
and when, a year later, I started dialyzing
in the clinic again, they took away the machine
and the tubing, but the hole remains,
like the place in an abandoned house
where a cable once ran, and some days
you can see me lie down on the carpet
next to that hole, and whisper into it
all the bitternesses and disappointments
of my life, and I know that God listens
on the other side of that hole, waiting
indulgently for me to finish, like a man
hearing his own story told back to him,
and sometimes I ask him if I am the one
who built the hole, and he says, no
but you are the one who built the wall,
and sometimes I ask him why I must suffer
and he says, to end your suffering,
and sometimes I ask him if he will repair
the hole, and—because he is merciful
and because there is no other way
for me to speak with him—he tells me no.
About the writer:
Steve Gehrke has published three books of poetry, most recently Michelangelo’s Seizure, which was selected for the National Poetry Series. His awards include an NEA, a Pushcart, and a Lannan Literary Redidency. He teaches at the University of Nevada-Reno.
Image: Crystal Dialogue 11 by Lava Ghayas. Acrylic on canvas. 48 x 60 inches. By 2020. By permission.
