Long ago,
a giant
somehow
fell out of me.
I don’t have
a face or name
to give you,
but can say
the space inside me
where the giant was
is specific,
individual,
and huge.
I can sense
a being in the world,
a being I should have been,
moving in a manner as vast
and expansive
as the planet.
Inside me
where the giant
was born and raised
there is only
a Void with an echo
of my own small voice.
I’ve done pretty well
as a shell, I must admit;
have moved the earth
in my own small way,
left footprints,
made some noise,
been a small presence
nearby and faraway.
That knowledge, though —
that deep knowledge
that something
dropped out of me
long ago: a void inside
shaped like a larger,
stronger version of me
that I never had
a chance to become;
that knowledge
is a near-fatal wisdom,
a numbing poison
shaped like Regret,
a giant named regret.