She found a heart in a car park.
Tracked an errant orange to its burger bag retreat.
Saw among smears of yesterday’s cheese
the dim flutter of its yearning.
It had grown fragile and glassy
the way hearts do when they’re forgotten.
Fingers gentle as bird shadows eased its hurts
soothed rawness with cobwebs and kisses.
At first it refused to feed     but bit by bit it opened up.
She spooned in chicken soup     sang it spring in Paris
the softness of ash     lovers and golden moons.
Snuggled it close     read it tales of firebirds
scar revision     slow growth of stone.
It grew bolder     began to explore her garden
but always returned at star fall.
One day down among the honey flowers
a strange heart appeared     it was artless and green.
Sweet peas nodded its aloneness.

Jan Napier (WA)

First published in Westerly

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