June 25th, 2016

​It doesn't look like a heart.

​If I saw it lying somewhere
in the street
I would

hesitate

& step over it.
It doesn't look like a heart.

I often see it
​in visions;
see myself
try to pick it up,

handle it,

​hold it
& show it to the one
who loves me.

I never know how to hold it.
​It doesn't look like a heart:

So full of holes
​& stretched out
​& bloodied
& dirtied
& still kind-of pulsing;

​So stubborn!

​I pick it up with two fingers
​just at one corner
​(trying not to touch it
​too much) &
​it hangs down
​like a soggy ex-something
now used for cleaning
​kitchen counters
​& tables & (in the end)
floors

​(a horrible thing to handle without
gloves)

I cup it in my hands then
& hold it up
to him,
​crying tears over it
​& breaking it more

​(cause it doesn't look like a heart)

​& I don't know what else to give.