The Kind of Light I Give Off Isn’t Going to Last
There should be somewhere to put the heart when it dies. If only I could hear you
opening again like a flower. We were two sticks rubbing together. We were on
fire. I heard your name, the wind said it first, then the trees. Nothing is ever real.
Everything dies. The heart of a woman when pierced is a blister shut so tight it
waters. I was jealous, his girlfriend had colts and it sounded fun. What girl doesn’t
want to come home from work and ride her horse around? The wind keeps saying
you’ll fly back but men grow damaged from touching the same dream that won’t
come true. I know what you want: to be buried inside me. Have you ever opened
an apricot, still warm from the sun, and found worms?