An Arrested Cardiac
I think my heart is broken—
it’s not feeling well. It’s not
stepping in other people’s shoes
or seeing from their point of view
like it used to. Its fire
has been encased in a sheen
of ice—bizarre, unwanted,
uncaring. Numb. The ice is
bitter and piercing. Angry? I’ve
never been so angry before, and
not for so long.
I’m not sure what brought this about—
I have some theories, but
they don’t explain the whole picture.
And I’m not sure how to fix it.
But I must fix it. Or else
the fire will dissipate
never to return
and then
I’ll
die.
To You, Three Years Ago:
You are
your namesake. In this dark
it may seem all lost, but
the light of you will burn
until your last breath, which
is not tomorrow like you think.
We are
twenty years old now. And I
look back on you with
pity, and yet fondness too—
I will protect you. I’ll take your hand
and lead us to joy.
To You, Three Years from Now
I am
namesakedly optimistic of you.
My successes and trials have been
in your name—I’m running so
you can fly.
We are
still triumphantly single, yes?
Married to our art,
lover of all, tethered to none?
Do we have a house yet?
No matter. Just please know
I’m thinking of you
and for you
I’m doing my best.
Spoiler Warning if You Haven’t Seen the Play Emma’s Child
Spoiler Warning if You Haven’t Seen the Play Emma’s Child
He enters the newly haunted room,
a baby blue bear
in his hands.
His eyes beads of hope,
his stout arms reach out
to offer hugs of apology and promise,
his soft fluff yearning for
a child to nuzzle and call his own.
She turns to him with tears,
and he knows
he’s too late.
He comforts his wife
and the bear falls
to the floor,
forgotten and alone
in a room of mourning.