A Cargo of Green Hearts
you used to smash plates when angry.
I was eighteen. I wanted
to smother myself in you the way
the moon rolls around in dark
bedsheets. I recall the day I left:
wasn’t less hungry or lunatic
just tired of all the splintered things
in my bed, it was like sleeping with nails.
day before, you’d broken the car window
said you’d do the sun if you could--
crush its smiling orange face.
and so while you were at work
I left nothing, erasing even my
shadow. near the end of the two
hour drive I could feel your hand
squeeze my heart
and although it did not break
like everything else, it held more
blood than I ever imagined.
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