Holey

Holey

In the pantry’s quiet nook,
A wedge of cheddar lies, holey‑streaked,
Each cavern a tiny tale—
Of mice that whispered through the night,
Of air that slipped and sang.

A sieve, its mesh a lace of gaps,
Catches flour like shy thoughts,
Letting dust drift through the gaps,
While the batter clings, stubborn, sweet.

Socks, once whole, now threadbare,
Toes peek through the woven sighs,
Each hole a map of wandering feet,
Of pavement trodden, rain‑kissed streets.

Even the sky, when clouds grow thin,
Becomes a holey parchment—
Sunlight pours through the gaps,
Painting the earth with molten gold.

So let us celebrate the voids,
For in each empty space we find
Room for wonder, for breath, for light—
A humble reminder: perfection
Often wears a holey crown.