[poem temporarily hidden by author]

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1. A HUNGRY HEART

   And I have only my hungry heart, my/ wobbly heart: I cart it everywhere I go.

   1.
   It is when things are exactly
   where they ought to be, that
   you begin to wonder where
   you might have lost yourself
   or found yourself needing
   all these quicksilver thoughts
   of longing, of desire pulsing
   through your hungry heart,
   your wobbly heart, and you
   wander among the debris
   of past lives, old loves, fallen
   dreams in crumbled houses,
   carting your throbbing heart
   through every dark chasm
   posted with forbidding signs:
   “no hearts accepted here”,
   and bravely you walk away,
   still carting your defiant heart
   through uncharted streets of
   lost loves and wanton desire.

   2.
   Now, you find yourself lulled
   in a spring garden as a flower
   stripped of its honey colours,
   a mere tendril, a bud worn
   as some valediction, and still
   you dream and chase the
   will-o’-the-wisp, and cart your
   heart, your wobbly heart,
   to parts unknown where signs
   forbid the chastened lover.

   —Albert B. Casuga
   04-26-11

   Reply

2. Back to read this for the fourth time. It’s such a distressing poem. I want to hammer on it and talk back.

   & at the same time it’s so cool and poised and almost matter-of-fact, that there’s no arguing with it. But I would, if I could.

   Reply

   1. A fourth read is complimentary, indeed. Distress, as in reacting to an old grandmother counsel one against falling in love more often than being coy. Thanks for the good read, Dale.

      Reply

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