Contributor Series 7: The Confessional Diary of Bone
They Speak of Hearts
By Telly McGaha
But what of them, mere sponge pumps
keeping the trains on time
(but one maiden clinging to the track
slows the whole system down).
They beat in sync with everything,
boringly rising and falling, as expected,
like the tide. Take them in stride:
How did these gory, bloody clumps
of muscle straining emotion-less
until the end,
when they finally feel,
ever get revered?
Bones, now there's the thing:
Something worth discussing.
A bone keeps growing,
long after you've kissed it
goodbye, eventually fossilized
so that centuries from now
someone will see your deformed
volcanic embrace and know: that's love.
Your bones will never tell you:
Don't drink.
Don't have fun.
Don't cheat.
In fact, a good backbone
gives you strength; with names
like coccyx and sacrum,
zygomatic and mandible,
how can they not be fun?
But the heart? A mere four-chambered
trifle that fractures feelings, creates
constant collisions of emotional carnage.
This poem was one of vox poetica's 2010 Pushcart Prize nominations. On the Stand was Telly McGaha's first poem to appear at vox poetica.
O! But the heart!
What a great surprise and delight the final stanza was in this poem. Well done.
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