Heart

I carry my heart in my hands
and lay it upon your altar.

“It is so heavy, so sad, so lonely.”

Your spirits bear witness
in the blinking eyes of trees,
shivery breezes rustling leaves,
the distant bones of wind chimes.
Some amongst them are hungry.
They are held back only by
your invisible command.

A part of me wishes it would break.

“What do you want me to do with it?”
You speak wearily from your sleep.

“Bury it and someone will dig it up.

Take it to the end of the universe
and it will return in a space shuttle.

Give it away and it will still be yours.

If I feed it to my hounds or devour it
myself your pain will live on in us.”

It stares back at me – obdurate aorta,
perfect superior vena cava, pulmonary
arteries and veins, atria and ventricles
pumping out their irrepressible beat.

“Take it away,” you speak abruptly.

As I gather it up and depart tearfully,
“it is strong,” you say more kindly,
“see it as a gift and not as a burden.”

A dozen invisible hands press it back
into my chest and seal the vision shut.

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3 thoughts on “Heart

  1. “…a gift … not a burden” Yes! – though I know how sometimes they may be difficult to tell apart. Burdens, of course, are not always ‘burdensome’ but can if willingly carried bring their own fulfilment, as I’m sure yours does.

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