Portrait of the Heart as Rambutan

(Nephelium lappaceum)


A tremble in the walls of the house
as a train passes is really the heart

trying to speak of its impending 
eruption. The cat at the window 

raises its paw to the glass, 
barely leaving an imprint. No one 

really wants to beg for a gift, 
no matter how dire the need. So 

the heart departs for another country—
not a region roofed with ice and a winter 

that outlasts the sun, but one where 
the heart might take the form of a fruit— 

one of many in a cluster: deep red, sweet 
kernel inside; skin a grenade of blisters.