WHAT THE HEART HIDES
A student keeps dead things
in a box under his desk: a girl’s ribbon,
his mother’s locket. He thinks
truth lies in them,
elusive. Yesterday,
a long walk in the street.
Cars slowed and turned
to avoid him. A woman stopped,
asked him many things: Would he like a ride?
Is South Street the next one over? Where’d
he get his shirt? Could bird song make
him cry? The whole time
he waited, looking past her at mailboxes
and trees. He listened hoping
she might speak some secret: this is what it takes
for a woman to truly trust a man or love is easier
than people are prepared to admit. Instead
she held her wisdom
like a stress ball in her palm,
sometimes loosening her fingers, never
completely letting go.
Today, he tries to write
and all he gets
are broken lines, a triangle.
It looks like a woman in a hat.
This poem first appeared in Regarding Arts and Letters journal.