mango summer sunset | | august poems (2023)

What am I doing here?

I hear the question fall
through the air like
soft rain:

"What are you doing here?"

I strain to answer, but find
my arms are unable to detach
from my legs, curling
in a fetal position;
my eyes unable to blink,
my chest unable to heave.

On the windows,
the rain murmurs.

My bedsheets grow damp from
my sweat and tears.
"God, I don't..."
my voice fails,
so I finish in my mind, "...don't know.
Why are You asking me?
It is not You
who sees eternity as a line on a page?
You are the line and the page and
all the space between;
I am a child asking myself,
'Why am I here?'

How can you ask for an answer
to the question I'm still asking myself?"