Seeing Is Believing
Belief is elastic. Yesterday, to the screams of horrified tourists, a statue of the Virgin Mary in a cathedral in Linz, Austria, appeared to go into labor. People believe what they need to believe to persevere. “Do you see the donut,” the cancer specialist asks, suddenly sounding anxious, “or just the hole?” My eyes burn, though there’s only water in tears. Once cancer touches you, you belong to it, you’re marked with its brand. And so, I lie in bed at night with the windows open, jealously listening to the gregarious insects at ease in the dark.
Howie Good‘s latest poetry collection, True Crime, was published by Sacred Parasite in Berlin this year.
