Some Mother’s Keep Secret a Sacred Heart

There’s a leak from a fissure

in the heart.  Every pump opens

atriums of grace and garden roses

most radiant as they die

from their own beauty constantly

changing into something

 

limp and brittle.  Vestibules lining

ventricle, on the right side of the most ornamental

organ: we all know what hearts mean.  Wilted

 

woe of whitewashed words, she could have been

your wife. Life slips down sinew and synapses collapse

in a breathless gasp for even a moment’s peace.

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1 Comment

  1. What ‘could have been’ often blinds a clear view of ‘what is’….random thought engendered by your poem.


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