Four & a quarter years
my heart’s been a fist. Clenched
no amount of massage
allows memory of uncurling,
lets fingers seek interlace.
Four hundred something
thousand souls –
the other marker of the day: gone.
Most passing without skin-to-skin touch,
contagion forcing isolation….
Tonight, my heart is lungs. My hands
a respirator: forcing breath by gentle squeeze.
(there must be a softness coming; I need for there to be)
My heart is teeth: bared, rictus-grinning,
jaw aching for relief.
My heart has forgotten how to be a heart. My heart
turns tears to so much steam. My heart
begs this ‘fist’ to be: chrysalis
I enjoyed this, especially the ending and its form and repetition of ” my heart” and “begs”
Yes, those ending lines are especially moving!
So much good imagery and vulnerability from top to bottom.
Thank you, hon!
Thank you. 🙂
powerful expression of pain with the augur of a softness to come
This one truly was born on Inauguration Day, very early in the morning…. as twins. I wrote one version, was quickly dissatisfied with it, and wrote a second. All in the space of about two hours.
I sat with them yesterday; typed-out side by side for the first time. Version one mostly won out, with some line breaks & tweaks from its almost-twin added in.