A Z-Shaped Hole

There is a hole cut into my front yard. It is Z-shaped.

I pass by it every day,

when I wake up in the morning,

and when I return at night.

Sometimes I stop and crouch,

and trace my finger around it.

I feel its chiseled edges

and its sharp corners,

and sometimes I stick my hand into it

to see how far down it goes.

I can't feel the bottom.

I can't tell how deep it is.

I once tried to ignore it; it simply stayed there.

I once tried to cover it; that can't hold my weight.

I once tried filling it with old pills.

That worked for a bit, but they always dissolve.

I once tried filling it with dirt, but the Z-Shaped Hole

appeared in the spot I took the dirt from.

Sometimes I sit and sulk.

I will get tired of it, but right now

it just feels right.

But one day, not any time soon,

my weeping will stop. I will stand up, 

point at the Z-Shaped Hole, and say,

"Z-Shaped Hole,

I miss the dirt that once took your place,

and I will never stop.

But to sit and sulk will ruin me.

And one day, I will stop filling you with

tears."

Something I know in my right mind,

but body and soul have catching up to do.

And I believe as time passes, the Z-Shaped Hole

will mend itself. Demotion to

"Z-Shaped Impression", perhaps.

Not any time soon, but one day.

And that day is one I want to come sooner.

Because then I'll go out

See the Z-Shaped hole,

and smile, not cry, at once was.