By Jané Dowd
Capricorn 𖤓 | Aquarius ⏾ | Aries ↑

which parts of my heart remain
edible? it is old now
and withered
are there still berries within
blushing and bursting
wet with promise
and want
and if
how long will they remain
vibrant and valiant
against the
dark?
you reach
for another morsel
bend down for one more bite
choke down heartflesh
surrendered
stolen
gobble
gone
the black stuff eaten up
bit by bit
bite by bite
berry by berry
the heart blooms
the pages turn
the dice roll
the hands
hold
Jané Dowd (b. 1987) is a South African poet living in the mountains, aiming every day to become more like an animal. She writes about the hope that refuses to leave, the sorrow that trails like slug slime, the bright days that scorch the eyes. She loves words and what they can do; she still wonders if we might be better off language-less.
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