It's Only Metal, and Metal Can Be Refined...



I think it's safe to say my little book of poems will not be published in September. I have changed the expected date to "whenever", which is fine. I just keep doing what I do...


And lately, what I've been doing is playing with the idea of "the bitten heart", the result of a certain dear child doing what little ones do. In my head, the biggest risk to letting this young force of nature wear my tiny gold heart was that the delicate chain would get broken.


I continue to play with the conversation that began with the question, "Sweetie, did you bite my heart?" and a promise that I would not be angry if the answer was "yes".


Hell yes she bit my heart!


It is now somewhat flattened and bears a dent in the shape of a small incisor -- a small change in morphology.


The Bitten Heart


My fault

she leveled me in her gaze

my fault

I let her wear it

my fault

only if one believes

a bitten heart somehow

is an inferior heart

but that is not

my heart,

heaven knows

my heart

is in your hands.


It's only metal, and metal can be refined, so why erase the imprint of the dent upon one's mind?


I would love to know what the idea of "the bitten heart" brings up in other peoples' minds.








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