A poet who posts regularly on Write Out Loud is looking forward to “probably one of the proudest moments of my life”. Lee Campbell said on social media that he will be performing at Sir Ian McKellen’s celebration of contemporary queer poetry in November at the ICA (Institute of Contemporary Arts) in London.

Lee added: “This photo of me and Ian is taken from the accompanying publication. Each poet gets a photo with Ian.” The caption by Sir Ian says: “Lee’s poetry is some of the most devastatingly beautiful writing I have ever encountered. He will perform ‘The Heart is a Muscle’, a poem about love and loss. My eyes were flooded with tears within seconds of reading it.”

 

THE HEART IS A MUSCLE 

by Lee Campbell 

 

Before November 30, 2023, 

 

I am a body. A complex historied well of senses

of emotions of proximities and encounters.

 

I have learnt what it means to have a body, 

to be a body inhabiting the world here and now. 

 

After the November 30, 2023, 

 

I’ve lost my body 

Where is my body?  

Has anyone seen my body?

 

Losses are also traumas,

Embed themselves in our bodies. 

May be surprising or shocking after several years. 

That you're still living it almost as if it’s the same day. 

Immediate kind of rawness when it first happens. 

Like the top layers of your skin 

have come off. Ebbs and flows not linear.

Comes, goes, in waves.

 

Mum, I miss you.  Ever since losing you, I’ve lost myself too. 

 

You have gone but I must carry on.  I'm programmed

to carry on. Yet I’ve learned that my heart beats for you.

My body and soul must readjust

to exist living without your presence.

 

The heart

and the 

soul, there's 

a residue. 

You live

through me 

Day to

day. Still 

with me.

Understand, recognise 

and appreciate 

who I

am because 

of you 

or not 

because of 

you. How 

do I 

now embody

you today? 

 

Life events

you prepare

yourself for

play themselves

out in 

front of 

me. I’m 

a spectator

in my 

own body. 

 

The audience

in the

protagonist’s skin. 

Like I 

am watching 

my life 

and I’m

in every

scene but

my body 

is elsewhere. 

 

Out there 

in the 

wilderness, lost

in woods.

Maybe savaged

by wolves. 

 

I, the

disembodied actor 

in his

own film 

he is 

directing but

somehow feels

strangely lost. 

 

Mum, I 

miss you.

I also

miss me.  

Sometimes I 

feel I’ve 

lost myself 

for days.

I miss 

feeling embodied.

 

I doubt my body will ever be found. 

I’m on the missing bodies list. 

Not coming off it anytime soon. 

 

The heart is a muscle 

 

Caller:  Hello, is that Lee? 

Me: Yes, speaking 

Caller: Hello, I’m Paul calling from The Missing Bodies List 

I am pleased to say that we think we may have found your heart 

It was found outside shivering in the cold on the side of the road 

by a late-night drinker. Broken but repairable. Would you like to speak to him to see whether he indeed is your heart? 

Me: Yes, please. Hello heart, how are you doing? 

Heart: Hello Lee 

Me: Heart, you are not sounding too good 

Heart: Please find your Mum’s childhood sewing kit, Lee

Anne Styles’ thread and pins

I am fleshy muscle torn by grief 

Please sew me back together again 

 

And now with Mum’s thread and pins,

with rhymes and stitches, and with plays on words,

if you think you are dark enough to see my light, 

then

SEW ME. 

Sew me back together again

 

I am your heart Lee,

torn by the tremors  

of your mother’s absence.

I am 

your grief’s muscle

your mother’s echo

and the part of you that refused to stop beating.

 

Remember, 

she stitched your courage 

into the lining of your ribs

And her lullabies stitched into my sinews

 

Lee, I am your river, your sea 

And the faint hum of your mother 

One day I’ll carry you 

into the arms of a boy, 

the most beautiful brother

 

The heart is a muscle 

I am a muscle.

 

https://filmfreeway.com/THEHEARTISAMUSCLE2025