an anthology of beating hearts
an anthology of beating hearts
By Shel Zhou
the bruise is already blooming, ruddy
throbbing under my left eye
i’m not to cry
working in the garden, hands muddy
my beating heart reminds me that i’m still alive
“you just don’t know when to stop” she said
and because i’m nothing but her prodigal daughter
i ignore her denigrations by
living like the dead
falsifying my depths with more mud in the water
dao-zi zui, dou-fu xin he says
before leaving me all alone
gasping on the ground,
no book readings or songs on the guitar
no croaking of his pet frog to quiet the din
trying to stop this beating heart
trying to go home
i remember when we biked down that windy hill
your bike yellow, my bike gray
we went crashing down for the thrill
you were bleeding, i was so scared you weren’t okay
drag myself on, to the metronome of this heart
to live is to suffer to suffer is dragging myself,
back to tear me apart
i empty everything within my stomach
the contents drip drip drip off the side of porcelain
i am retching i am wretched
and i can not stop my watering aching eyes
in hopes that
the expulsion of everything
get it out get it out
will finally make me feel alright and i can’t
Knock.
Knock.
Are you alright?
You’ve been in there for a long time.
You just can’t seem to stop.
I wipe the sin from my mouth and open the bathroom stall
a blithe, pixie-ish face with a
curved and crooked mouth like
my second grade jack-o-lantern
is smiling at me
Are you okay?
And so it begins again, Elio, i haven’t forgotten
we run barefoot on beaches and in rivers
and trace constellations in the sky on crumbling rooftops
i hold out a globe and we dream and touch and quiver
she throws her head back and roars, unladylike
and for a moment that drowning cacophony of beating hearts nearly stops
she paints me gold and spins me valentine evenings
i watch the tiny furrow in her brow as she raps out sappho
and lie on my stomach in the sunroom, heart beating
then my panacea looks at me, adept as a swallow
and I survive, heart keeps beating
to the rhythm of hers freckled fingers and shoulder blade’s careful slope
to survive is finding with suffering, meaning
and I rend in my heart, a curious little thing called hope
I, seventeen, see the world in calamity
no one listens to an angry teen
and I dream of a world where our children know the shade of a tree
to be free in my body and color and tongue, but
it is all fading fast, futile to glean
she calls me lover; a reminder
of what this heart beats for
to champion learned love, justice, and peace
never ashamed to want more
I remember when you crashed your bike
your heart was beating so fast
we were so scared, but we were alive
I, seventeen, soon to leave
the pain wrought wreckage of the past feels so far away by my dou-fu xin I have hope, a prospect
that my beating heart and I will be okay
