Lacuna

Liza Rose

of my life— what is it? what am i  

missing? not love, i’m still  

empty with it— the hollows  

between my ribs perfect  

for entwining fingers, but lungs  

still drowning in heavy emptiness.  

what  

then is this gap in feeling,  

fulfillment, memory, contentment, etc, etc?

lacuna: an unfilled space or interval; a gap; 

an absent part, especially  

in a book or other piece of writing.  

in anatomy: a cavity or depression,  

especially in bone.  

lagoon and lake too come  

from the latin word lacus  

a body of water.  

when i was a girl, i’d turn  

belly-up like a dead fish  

beneath pool water, open  

my eyes to the sun glinting  

distorted through the surface  

and pretend i was ascending  

to heaven. i’d hold  

my breath, feel  

something golden rising inside me.

it felt like peace.  

this missing has always been in my bones.  

i feel like i am dead, i say  

to no one. as though i am  

numb underwater looking  

up through a thick screen of ice  

at my life playing out on the other side—

i can’t touch it.  

the distance between my skin and the sky.