My heart used to beat in the swift,
sharp tap of my high heels,
pecking out the rhythm of my blood. Now
heart and feet are out of step,
out of tune: my halting, muffled feet
pluck painful notes, to the percussion
of two sticks; a patter of uncertain rain.
But the heart does not break
when bones do. It holds firm
at the core, sound as an apple,
candid as a barn owl's
heart-shaped, apple-slice face.
My heart still hammers out the powerful beat
That used to find expression in my feet.
valerie, you've got me wondering WHAT your disability IS. it certainly doesn't seem to be your mind! brittle bones? i love birds and was esp. taken by the apple/owl/heart similarities. thanks again for sharing; i would put you down as a friend but don't see how to do it tonight. no matter. bri edwards
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
i forgot my first thought: a heartbeat irregularity. good luck with whatever ails you.