THE HEART THAT WAITED

 

I am your heart, Lee. 

Not metaphor, not symbol— 

just muscle and memory, 

torn by the tremors 

of your mother’s absence.

 

I remember her laugh 

echoing through your chest 

like wind through a hollow reed. 

I remember the way 

she stitched your courage 

into the lining of your ribs.

 

Before 29th November 2023, 

the date  of your mother’s death

I was housed.

Warm.

Nested in ribs,

Cradled by breath,

Fed by memory,

Beating in rhythm

With love.

 

I knew

the pulse of joy,

the tremble of fear,

the quiet hum of

ordinary days.

I was whole. I was held.

 

Then came the rupture.

The silence.

The absence. The cold.

 

I was torn from my chamber, flung into the night like a forgotten coat

on a stranger’s shoulder.

 

I waited.

On the roadside.

Among cigarette ends and broken glass.

I waited for you to remember me.

 

I whispered

through

chest pains,

through

sleepless hours,

through

the ache

in your fingertips

when you touched

nothing.

 

I am your grief’s muscle. I am your mother’s echo.

I am the part of you that refused to stop beating.

 

I remember her lullabies stitched into my sinews.

I remember her laughter like a thread pulling me back to you.

 

But grief is a thief 

with gentle hands. 

It didn’t steal me all at once— 

just thread by thread, 

until I unraveled 

on the pavement.

 

I am not gone. 

I am not whole. 

I am waiting.

 

I was found by a drinker who mistook me for a broken bottle.

But I am not glass.

I am flesh.I am memory.I am yours.

 

Find your mother’s childhood sewing kit

Sew me.

With Anne Styles’ thread.

With the pins of your poems.

With the rhythm

of your breath

when you speak her

name.

 

Sew me, Lee. 

Not perfectly. 

Not quickly. 

But with intention.

 

Use her thread— 

the kind that never breaks 

even when pulled tight 

by sorrow.

Each stitch 

a memory. 

Each knot 

a promise.

 

I will beat again 

not as I did before, 

but as I must now— 

threadbare, 

but beating.

I am your river, and soon, one day you will give part of me, you stumble upon by happenstance

to a beautiful dear boy