Half

It’s April
The book is half done
Half finished 
Half not
The pages half full
Half empty

I feel this halfness
I am half here
Half formed
Half unformed 
Half of this world 
Half far removed 

Half of me breathing 
Half of me not

I see the children
With half of their limbs
The mothers 
Halved
Half alive
Half dead
Whether breathing or not

The world
Half human
Half not
Half hearted

We talk of wholeness
While half wits preside
Erasing whole countries
Half hiding their smiles

Half screaming
Half numb
Half grateful
Half alive

Still… alive

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This poem first appeared on our Substack, where new
writing arrives weekly and our conversation continues.

Read the original in the FV Café on Substack