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Post by Admin on Jun 3, 2017 9:02:30 GMT -4
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Post by mistaken7 on Jul 14, 2017 14:37:37 GMT -4
...when you are just tired of running 🦄
Heart to Heart
Rita Dove, 1952
It’s neither red
nor sweet.
It doesn’t melt
or turn over,
break or harden,
so it can’t feel
pain,
yearning,
regret.
It doesn’t have
a tip to spin on,
it isn’t even
shapely—
just a thick clutch
of muscle,
lopsided,
mute. Still,
I feel it inside
its cage sounding
a dull tattoo:
I want, I want—
but I can’t open it:
there’s no key.
I can’t wear it
on my sleeve,
or tell you from
the bottom of it
how I feel. Here,
it’s all yours, now—
but you’ll have
to take me,
too.
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