She Tells Me Her Heart is Too Big

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Her heart is too big for her body, she urges.
It begins
(more or less) under her throat continuing
down– through her midsection and across the wing of her hips.
Encompassing the space saved for things like liver
and lungs.
You wouldn’t notice it if you saw her,
but she feels it and knows how the thing can get
in the way.

There are moments of joy indescribable when her
tremendous core leaps and floats. She becomes the balloon.
A heart made of helium.
Next, a smile followed by a hearty laugh.
She tells me she can fly because she takes herself lightly.
In these moments, before me stands a graceful thing
unaware of her beauty.

Anger causes heartburn, and with one the size
of a microwave oven, it rages fiercely.
In the dark
you might see blue flames emanate from her eyes,
nose, ears.
Definitely her mouth. Someone else who spoke with me
said:
Try not to become the object of such a thing
if you can avoid it.

Oh, but how she loves passionately, and the thump,
thump, thumping of her super-sized
root is a drum-line playing an untamed cadence. Thunder.
Look closely into those eyes
dilated with amour,
you can see the electrical storm. If one gets close
and draws her near, surely there must be
a memorable static charge and a
thrilling zap.
She blushes and smiles, waving the topic
away.

When heartache washes over her like waves, she
soaks up despair like a great sponge.
A body like a dam, the watery sadness sometimes
breaches the limit to hold it all together.
Great sobs release the waterworks.
Once the flood slows to a gentle trickle she sighs, relieved
that she can breathe once again.

The jumping, dropping, heavy, leaping, floating,
burning, drumming, flooded soul … endures … delicate
as it is large.
Hold her heart gently. Treat it kindly.
Wounded, it bruises and breaks snapping shattered,
splintery pieces. So it goes.
Messy and
hard to heal … sometimes.

She told me once a piece broke off so big that its
sharp, keen-edge
threatened to pierce right through her
chest.
Eventually the pointed edges softened, settling into
a dark and unused corner.
She quietly
muttered:
That’s where the ghosts of a broken heart go.

After all the bumps and breaks… still,
she reveals,
this capacious ticker of hers hasn’t shrunk.
Not even a little bit.
Occasionally she longs to have a perfectly average
heart.
Wondering how much longer
until it bursts like a balloon. Showering down what is
left of her like
confetti.
Cascading over everyone who has touched the depths
of her starting point.

Shrugging it off relenting to the mystery,
she waits patiently to one day (hopefully) learn the reason,
the why…
The answer to the only question
of a heart too big.

 

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