The Reviews Are In…

She beat her heart into a mold and
poured the ink carefully, heated by just the right fires
to stay molten, made sure the lines had
plenty
of
space
to cool without cracking, as many industrial types suggest,
and when she chipped away the pieces of her heart
to reveal the sharp-edged thing beneath,
she polished and buffered, for days,
for months,
for years,
until a perfect impression of each chamber and
each thought remained.
She submitted it to great acclaim,
and,
by the end of her life it was written of:
“a minor work,
of little worth to the movement.”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s