Written by: Hana Ryusaka

Stinging sensations dancing across my staring globes.

Unable to blink.

The deep brown of the mud puddle

may reflect my aching heart, 

oozing pain,

but I can’t see.

I don’t know.

A lead weight thumping away 

longs to be free of its prison.

Why does it feel so heavy?

Why does it seem so full?

As if all the sorrow in a 5’4 frame

could be centered in that one little organ.

What is a heart 

that it should wish to fly like a bird?


leave soaring to the winged, freedom 

to those who are free,

enrichment to the rich and give

the pitiful their pity,

nothing more.

A treacherous thing, this heart:

it does its job with a grumble and a sigh-

but conspires to drown the townsfolk 

in their beds.

For it has some strange connection with the holes

in the dikes

that keep the ocean,

keep emotion,

tucked away.