when you were younger, did you,
wide-eyed, blushing,
hold your heart next to your elbow, hoping
that it would stick to the material of your sweater, slather it in honey so it would stay,
only to realize the next day that all you were left with was a coat you had to take to the laundromat, prickly
with sweat and honey and
an error message where your heart used to be?
and
did you try a second time, capture a wren
from the bushes assuming that
a birdcage and a ribcage would mean the same thing to it, stand motionless as the bird
thrashed against a chest that impeded its own
heart, bursting?
and
did it throb the next day when
you found claw marks where a bird used to be, where
a heart used to be?
and
when you grasped another wren with both hands and swallowed it whole,
hoping to absorb
whatever it was that kept its wings beating long
past when yours would have,
was it odd
to see something without teeth be so toothsome?
and
did you regret any of it,
or did you proceed as usual,
the word heartwrenching
bobbing up in your throat
whenever you swallowed, leafy wings
fluttering behind your neck?