A heart is too stubborn to be a stone. – Kyle G. Dargan
Though a stone may be carved in the shape
of a heart—polished, painted with an inspirational
quote and sold as a trinket, held in a worried palm.
A stone may be a heart, may be worried, may be
smoothed by the murmur of hands. “You worry me,”
says one. “I’m fine without him,” says another.
A heart is too stubborn to take a river as it comes.
It is accustomed to controlling tides. A heart
is a moon circling another heart. A heart
does not abide a river. A river wears stones, chips them
until the edges are smooth and softened into dust,
until they can be carried. My heart—too stubborn
to be carried. A stone may join a river, careen
toward an ocean. An ocean may tumble cliffs into stone,
and then into sand, and then wash what-was-cliff
onto a beach where I lazily draw the letters
that mark your name, circling them over and over
like a whisper—something about loss. Oh God.
Let my heart be a stone.