Posts Tagged ‘heart’




I make in my heart a nest for the questions,

ask them to stay, and at the same time

post a sign that says

answers only—

no wonder they fly away.



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stubbing my toe

the whole foot, the whole world,

becomes toe

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One in Winter




when cold enough

the river becomes its own obstacle—

oh heart, stay warm, stay warm

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Imagine that your hands are an extension of your heart. Because they are.

—Clea Willow, yoga instructor



While slipping coins into the meter

I remind my hands they are doing

the work of the heart. They fumble

to find another quarter in my coin purse,

then drop it on the sidewalk

where it shines against the gray.

Isn’t that just like the heart, I think,

to bumble even the simplest of routines.

It could be so easy to search for, hold closely,

and let go at just the right time.

Come on hands, I tell them, do what

what the heart must do. Reach.

Recover. Try again.

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But it’s not just another culvert, the aorta.

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Sometimes when I feel my heart

harden, become quartzite, a stone

hard enough to cut my tooth, hard

enough to cut the blade of a knife,

I let myself be led

into the narrow and moss-soft gorges

of the Appalachians.

The creek here has rendered the sandstone

edges into rounded walls

where hemlock and dark green lichen grow.


It’s no revelation that this church

of curves is the work of water.

Still, when my friend Paul mentions

that only because the water is moving

is it able to erode the stone, the knowledge

washes me new. How long have I been settled

in a quiet pool?


I have tried not to move, tried not

to be tumbled. For a moment,

I envy the rounded bit of quartzite

Paul holds in his palm.


No, I tell myself. That would only change

the surface of things. What is smoothed

is no less hard. I turn to the ferns

growing out of the rock. Time

for a new metaphor.


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One Curiosity



eavesdropping on my own heart

wishing I could understand the whispers—

rustle of golden leaves

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One Revelation




that wall


my heart,

funny how


else can

see it


for me



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Who knew the heart

had so many doors,

most of them invisible

until the very moment

the hand brushes the knob,

and out of habit, perhaps,

the wrist makes a turn

and suddenly

there is an opening

where moments before

there was only wall.

There are thresholds

beyond our dreaming

right here within

the lives we live.

They have been here

all along.

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This Afternoon, I Walk East

How good the cold air

feels on the face

after a morning inside.

I try to tell myself

it could work this way

with the heart, too—

a little winter

when there’s been

so much heat—

but the heart does

not believe me

and zips up its coat.

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