using my heart as bait.
It is just before dawn,
the slightest hint of
pink bleeds into the
night sky. I use my
pen knife to cut the
hole in my chest,
reaching behind the
pocket of my shirt.
What a tough muscle
to pull the hook through.
The heart is astonished
to be in this other world
and trembles and shivers like
a moth discovered in daylight.
I try to calm it by stroking it
by telling it that it will all be
ok, but what do I know.
The breeze picks up and chills the cavern
in my chest. It feels good to
be empty at last. I cast my heart
across the water. I cast it again
and again. Sometimes it floats on
the surface, other times it sinks
below. Something will strike at it
that I can’t see. I pray
I am using the right bait.
The tough outer layers
soften in the water. The heart grows
smaller, more pliant.
It has become a beautiful
blue jewel. I begin
not to recognize it.
Was this me?
It waits. I wait.
The boat rocks
slightly in the breeze
lifted and lowered
by the tide.
– Stuart Kestenbaum, House of Thanksgiving