By Ru Freeman
The heart, the surgeon says, does not reveal
the small rifts, the hairline cracks which
split the hairline cracks they conceal cops
and robbers in a stretch of skin flaunting
star-scars with show of blood bone
the ledges of what it holds tight in checkmate
moves: bend this and break
fight first and bleed to earn
needle finger wrap caress balm
the salvation of sight Behold what beauty
lasts, what outlasts itself The curtain
calls the ovation Seize the beginning
that ends this way: off center stage above
fractured ribs the heart succumbs in silence
All is dark. Listen a kommos sung solo
It is too late to repair anything.
Source: Poetry (April 2019)
Poet Bio
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