Posts Tagged ‘heart’

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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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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It’s All I Hear

standing at the door
of your heart, is that pounding
your pulse or my hand

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Odd Luck

an h-poem for Lian Canty’s Alphabet Menagerie

If you are lucky in this life,
you will find hearts everywhere you go—
hiding in full sun in the leaves of the hollyhocks,
or tucked into brambles, or rising up
when you hold your hand out to a friend.

And if you are lucky,
your heart will break, not just tiny cracks,
but huge fractures, wide enough
for a hippopotamus to swim through,
high enough for a hawk to circle inside.

Then, the heart can no longer believe
it is separate, beating only for itself.
Only after it is broken can it find in itself every form—
from the silver herring to the great blue heron
to the red hibiscus to the hermit crab.

In Asia they bring loved ones pink hydrangeas
to say, “You are the beat of my heart.”
If you are lucky, you offer hydrangeas
to every creature you see—the hummingbird,
the rattlesnake, the man across the street.

A horseshoe is lucky if you hang it
open side up, but not as lucky as an open heart
which is always ready for love. And if it is
too difficult to ask the world to break you,
then just wait, and whisper frequently, “Thank you, thank you.”

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Right Here Over the Rainbow

Almost every heart
we know
is wounded—

all the more reason
to learn the language the sun speaks
when it touches the meadow in spring,

and then speak
like that
to each other.

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