Heart

I had said,

“Don’t force me to reveal the ugly origami that is my heart.

The space it fits into is cramped and bloody

And I am not sure I could get it back inside.”

But you had insisted.

And then I had revealed myself, against my will. 

Against my better judgment.

We sat staring at it, the slimy shape in my hands, purple and red, shiny in the

late-night mood lighting of the restaurant. It began staining the tablecloth at the edge of the table where I placed my hands.

And the smell.

I hadn’t expected that.

Iron rich blood, and something faintly sweet.

“Put it away, I can’t stand it”

you said.

And then you said,

“What should we do with it?”

I cradled it, cupped in my hands and looked from you and back to my hands, to the visceral reminder of what I had done.

“You need to leave,” I said.

“I will figure it out.”

You were silent, and at some point you left.

And I sat there for a while, feeling the outside of it start to cool, and to harden.

That is, to scab.

I knew that action was required, but my hands were occupied. I rocked it slowly back and forth, trying to see if I noticed a difference. It was just a little unpleasant, and I grimaced, and then reached for my napkin. I gently rolled the heart onto one hand, and spread the napkin out over the other hand with a flicking motion. Slowly, I rolled my heart onto the napkin on my hand, and then bringing the four corners together I made a bundle that I could carry.

It was heavier than I thought it would be, and I looked around to see if anyone in this busy restaurant had noticed.

They hadn’t, and I headed for the door.

The night air was warm, and I walked towards my car.

I felt ill about my bloody hands touching the steering wheel of my car, but the blood was mostly dry by now. I made a rubbing motion with my hand, fingers curling against palm, and a dusting of dried blood sifted down.

Should I go to the hospital? The stitches alone would be a fortune.

I drove, poorly, as though it didn’t matter. My heart rested, damp, in the depression where my legs met. I may have run a red light.

Arriving at my house, I thought

"This is a morning problem; I need sunshine and daylight to think this through."

So I went inside.

It was a fragile feeling, being both the heart and the vessel. I was tired, and instead of facing the mirror to undress, I turned my back.

I put on the softest cotton shirt I owned, still holding the now stained bundle by the four corners. I switched it from one hand to another to pull on the shirt.

I pulled back the covers, climbed into my bed and spread the napkin out, like a picnic.

A feast.

I looked at it as I lay on my side, and felt the place inside me longing to be filled.

The dead shapes of leaves
Look like the corpses of rodents.
They're soft to the touch
And filled with disease.

Oh so hard

I see the inspiration,
See it played by the wind.
But I cannot feel it.
What good is a tool
If its use cannot be found?
Endless movement with nothing to show,
Ideas that flicker without substance.

The city

The air hung thick and dead, casting a grey shadow over the whole face of the city. Everything was broken. The occupants of the city, numb from constant terror, shuffled through the streets, stopping from time to time to push wreckage of homes, splintered beams and broken armchairs to the curb. Every home had been emptied, shaken upside down in a comic gesture, leaving the detritus of everyday life to form the new texture of the urban surface. The topography of the city had been upended as if with one rolling convulsion. Old landmarks were forgotten, erased, and in their place new fantastical sights had been erected.

color and pattern built on the shadow of form, layering paint until a story unfolds, defining a moment before time moves on to the next. the inexorable momentum, frozen for a view of the characters at play. each shape has its own story, its own history and record, taken together, when any two shapes should collide, combine or just sit side to side, a pattern of stories is created. something interesting and ephemeral happens when a memory of a place blends with a chronicle told, where the rational meets the whimsical, and where abstraction meets the narrative. timing can create breathtaking beauty, or perhaps, with a shudder and gasp, burst out with a laugh.

the wounded general

the General was strong and formidable, with fiery eyes unclouded by questions. the General strode with purpose and loud clanging footsteps. there was no barrier too great, everything was easily won or clarified with an attitude of possession. the entire world lay at the General's feet, simplified and small. until the day that everything changed. the weapon was sharp, and pierced with skill. the General crumpled and fell and felt blood pour from a wound, sensed the dusty ground drink in the blood that poured from the wound. the earth took this blood, taking with it strength and pride, till the General passed into darkness. much time passed thus, for the wound was deep and in a place near to the heart. the General asked the sun on awakening, "is this what is left of my life? to cower and shake and feel so uncertain?"  the sun looked down to where the General sat with knees drawn in, and replied, "it is time to learn that there is more to the battle than winning, more to this life than success. your journey will be long, your profit ephemeral. when you look at your hands, they may hold nothing more grand than the air. this is what it is to be human." and when the General rose to face the fierceness of day, weakness and doubt were newly planted where savage aggression had been, with footstep still shaking with relief of survival. so the General became the Wounded General, a reflection of uncertainty and sincerest hope for the future, never taking and always searching, healing slowly with life's heavy toil.

one works so hard for change, well, improvement that is, that one doesn't always look up from the grind to see where all the effort as taken you. so much has happened since the posts below this one. new spaces to fill and new challenges to fulfill. new views to love and new sights set.