You come looking for your heart, you say?
There it is — nestled in a house of leaves
Moments before the wind blows.
Please watch your step as you go along.
This is where many things have happened:
The birth of a dark star, the first exhale of a dusty mouth.
And beneath these cobblestones, the susurrous hum of
the thousands who walked here before you.
The wet, red muscle you seek is the same
wet, red muscle they sought.
And like them, you must earn your desire.
Do you see that tangle of bones by the ivy wall?
He was a general who wanted to win all the wars
But made others fight his battles.
And that marbled statue with the crack along the chest?
She was a maiden who let the foaming waves anchor her,
Thinking she had lost her love
Before she even knew its true shape.
I couldn’t tell you how not to be like them.
All I know is the stories you cradle in the dark palm of your hand
can serve you well if you learn how to wield them.
To give order to the raw, staccato beat
pulsing towards you from that house of leaves
To add just a drip of that molten dream
as it weaves into vines of lightning veins
Coursing through the map of your body
Until your first breath comes and you can say at last:
I am here
I am here
I am here.
Yanna Hashri likes being seaside, docked and adrift all at the same time. Apart from dream weaving and loving stories in all shapes and sizes, she is always, always a work in progress.
Feature image by Jehan Aziz.