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)
More Poems about Arts & Sciences
Sestina in Prose
It was like climbing a mountain to those of us who’d climbed one. To the others, it was like, I suppose, something else. In other words, we let everybody find her own figure of speech.
Not that it—speech—lay thick on the...
In her head
Runs with no interval,
A lot of people singing tunelessly
About the same things.
A rotting peach.
Cockatoo of her impatience,
Flap flap. The slab
Of blue behind her
Is a sea of
Her doubts. The squirrel
In her stomach
Trying to get out—
More Poems about Living
We gathered in a field southwest of town,
several hundred hauling coolers
and folding chairs along a gravel road
dry in August, two ruts of soft dust
that soaked into our clothes
and rose in plumes behind us.
By noon we could discern their massive coils
How to Triumph Like a Girl
I like the lady horses best,
how they make it all look easy,
like running 40 miles per hour
is as fun as taking a nap, or grass.
I like their lady horse swagger,
after winning. Ears up, girls, ears up!
But mainly, let’s be honest,...