The Heart

Inspired by the events portrayed in August Wilson's "Fences," and by the subsequent memories and questions the play prompted.

A crimson flower, succulent, carneous*

Slumbers in every man’s bony bosom.

An eternal, deathless treasure that’s

Deemed little more than red meat, or

A clockwork machine in rhythmic spasm.

 

A rose has thorns to guard its own life, and

A heart can turn to stone to deflect the

Sharp edge of the world that cuts like a knife.

 

Though the world’s clamor is muffled in the heart’s

Lonely chambers, she breaks at the faintest

Sound of her neighbors as they sigh or scream,

Rattle their chains, choke on tears, or

Hopelessly nurse unbearable aches.

 

On earth? In the heavens?

Oh where is her home? A heart is 

Too soft for the harsh world of man, but

Too barren and hard for the seed of

God’s holy plan.

*related to or resembling flesh; in botany (of some fruits, leaves, etc.) thick and pulpy