Poems - Issue 5
I want to tell you there has been a mistake.
You have left your heart too close to the surface.
It beats just under that smear of hair,
the skin's unbearable sheen.
All night it ticks, alien, molton, a stopclock
I didn't mean to set
that will go off at three with a flayed outrageous
shriek. The hospital carpark will be red soon,
raw and unlikely as a very first morning.
All the calm blue concertina curtains
can't keep me in. Your skull is the world
at the dawn of time
spinning in a ward of infant stars,
tectonic plates still shifting.
There has been a mistake. They have left
my heart in a plastic cot
for anyone to look at. It is smaller than I thought,
more helpless and more beautiful.