Someone in the Blindness of Your Heart Was Missing

always had been missing, the substitutes

you sought, or had happen to you, circumscribe

space grown larger with time, once

you thought a cat might fill it — warmth

& purring, a weight against you in the dark

or books might fill it, imagination, learning, invention

the space is a child a mother a father a grand

fill with love — what you glean instead

is what it means to be an intruder

you’re simmeringly furious at those who talk of

loving parents, of sitting in laps, being

read to, vacations, favorite meals

you’d stash a box of crackers in your bed

to dull your need — hunger, longing — nibble

quietly like a mouse — all the time

in your room, your childhood years

practice for the rest of time

unfilled, the space opens forever

— for Stanley Plumly