| Love Letter to a Stranger by Jenny Browne Tell us of a bypassed heart beating in 12C, how the woman holds a stranger's hand to the battery sewn in beneath her collarbone, and says feel this. Tell us of the man's ear listening across the aisle, hugging itself, a fist long since blistered by blaze. Outside, morning sun buckling up. Inside, twitching bonesacks of bat, birdsong erupting as light cracks the far jungle canopy. Ten thousand feet below ours, a grey cat tongues the morning's butter left out to soft. Last night we broke open the sweet folds around two paper fortunes. One said variety. One said caution. The woman in 12C would hold that her heart needs its hidden spark, but the man shows how some live the rest of their lives with half a face remembering its before expression. Who was it that said our souls know one another by smell, like horses?
Copyright © 2013 by Jenny Browne. Used with permission of the author. |
| About This Poem "Whenever I struggle to feel connected to the other human travelers that share this planet, it helps to remember that we all get to (have to) live inside these variously broken (beautiful) bodies. Whatever I pretend to understand about intimacy and distance (and about poetry) starts there." --Jenny Browne |
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