Making Space for Nothing

by Svetlana Litvinchuk

It is the job of the young to paint
and wash and bury the dead,
to wonder did God create man 
in his own image, or did man 
create God in his? In whose image 
do we shape the object of our doubt?

God is here and not here—acknowledging 
absence is its own way of conjuring.
To give form to emptiness is to bring 
about existence. To pour tar over it
and then cover it with feathers.

Notice nothing, and it will become 
something; notice the vacuum, 
and it will become filled.

I turn my gaze inward, seeing that I am 
a vessel, and by realizing I am a cup, 
I am no longer empty.

To hold space is to reach toward 
wholeness. This life is a paradox— 
if you want to understand 
a thing, simply look to its opposite. 

I know that I have bones 
because I feel them supporting 
my weight from collapsing onto the earth.
I cannot prove their presence 
without doing great and lasting 
harm to myself.

Is this what belief in God is like,
without the help of science?
I wouldn’t know. 

I am not certain I can tell 
the difference between being 
in this room and hallucinating 
life suspended in a hologram.  

Even so, my home has an altar—
a space for God—does this make it 
God’s house?

I sprinkle it with trinkets and baubles
as if I’m making offerings to win over
a crow. I wait by the window
for it to land.

My walls seem to say, “Come visit 
me, God, sleep in my empty room. 
I want to become more 
than a guesthouse.

Inhabit me like bones, 
give me some structure,
strengthen me, so that I may become 
a home.”

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