A Cargo of Green Hearts
~POEMS~
it is true, I was born a monster
an inkblot, a dark bird dropped down the chimney, I crawled out of the forest and traded places with some human child whom the bears have made a meal of, I could tell you of the surgery to remove the horns, the evil eye the two left hands, and my tongue was sewn together so that I’d speak straight and not stutter the location of the Fruit of Immortality which the living must not know of, or be drowned by God. all this, then was assigned a place, a name, a home given a ticket, a middle initial, a history, a genus, a species a nickname, a social security number a gender, a haircut, parents a neighborhood, Christmas presents bruises, language, insinuations, flags, and lots of thin little lines in the palms of my hands to tell me where I should go. they call it a lifeline it’s human, they say. you’d think it enough, but no one was fooled and they all spoke behind my back and called me beast and the goats stared at me queerly with their eyes like coin-slots. I tried to fit in, really I did. but lately haven given up hiding the stump on my sacrum. I tell you my spine was so sinuous, it had its own language, a kind of nobility and my kingdom was unintelligible. why should I settle for these cardboard boxes you’re selling? I’m ugly but no fool: why squat when there are fields made of birds to lie down on? the rain arrives kissing me because I hold out my tongue. I know of colors that would break your heart if your heart were shaped not like a cage but like a bowl, the way mine is, if your eyes weren’t always cataloging. I’ve reclined on the fields and when the birds flew off, drifted on the emptiness like the pie-plate moon. I am full of rain. don’t try to understand my heart, please. silence is a texture, a taste. some of us will never be known and the act of belonging is a species of violence which all of you, every last one is infinitely guilty of. Comments are closed.
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Poetry LogPoems are posted here when I'm ready to share them. I often don't title my poems. The date you see above the poem may be the date it was posted here and not necessarily the date it was created. To see more, click on the Archives below. Archives
January 2020
CategoriesUnless otherwise noted, all content ©Paul-William Gagnon, Creative Commons Attribution-Non Commercial-NoDerivs license.
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