I think I injured my heart, somewhere along the way
from Kingston to Winnipeg. I don't quite know when.
I remember that shin fracture, twelve years ago
in a dance class. Pain, acute, shrewd, stretching
a rubber-band at the threshold of constriction.
I think I injured my heart, somewhere along the way
from Kingston to Winnipeg. I don't quite know when,
I don't quite know how. It snapped like a violin cord
tensed in a diagonal between my chest and my back:
thin line, contained, faster than the speed in a red car.
I think I tore my heart, somewhere along the way
from Kingston to Winnipeg. I don't quite know when.
Somewhere on the highway we watched the silence
reflect cemeteries and empty branches in the mirror.
Something tore open which wasn't you, which wasn't me.
1 comment:
This is beautiful!
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