When you are fat (and I am fat) the streets are full of
soothsayers
telling you how you will die.
They all seem so anxious for my heart
like it’s an unattended package at the airport
so I move thru the world listening
for my heart like it must be a clock
swallowed by a crocodile.
No,
a canary that goes silent much too late.
No,
they are certain it is going to attack, my heart,
like a hungry bear on a camp ground
ripping a zipper down my chest, cracking
my sternum like a cheap tent pole.
No,
I am not at all sorry for my size
so I must be a barge which would make my heart a fish
washed onto the deck
GaspingFloppingSlamming scales off its body
like an angry beauty queen ripping sequins from a dress
that didn’t sparkle enough to win
but then that would make my heart a beauty queen
that can’t walk in heels …
No,
wait.
My heart is an hourglass filled with gunpowder
and at any given moment some wild spark
is gonna blow me sky high
so, I don’t know, maybe this is why I love the way I do
with teeth and swallow and song and snarl
and water and sparkle and consequence
maybe this is why I show up to your front door
out of breath and full of dazzle
like this is the last ballyhoo
and nothing at all can wait till the morning.
Forgive me, they keep telling me that my heart is not my heart.
They keep telling me that I am dying.
This may be our last chance.