(Heart)wrecker/(Home)breaker

I’ve never stopped a heart-

The poem should end here.

It doesn’t.

The sound of the levees breaking was quiet,

I thought it would be bigger-

The poem should end here.

It doesn’t.

I was expecting shrieking sirens, stirring dogs,

and motion sensor porch lights chasing rabbits

from driveway to driveway,

I was expecting to shatter mirrors

and lower temperatures

with my very existence-

The poem should be over.

We should all be in our beds by now,

(but we've got six more miles until our exit.)

I've been keeping up;

brushing my hair and

vacuuming the stairs like it matters.

I've walked through this damp, hail-heavy winter

with wet socks, a back-pack,

and a sterling silver pendent of jaded righteousness

swinging from my neck.

I’ve kept my head down and

blinked smoke out of my eyes.

Something inside of me was rusting and rattling

and I wanted everyone to listen carefully

to my clicking bones.

A doctor diagnosed my sacroiliac joints as dysfunctional

and suggested physical therapy.

My mother diagnosed my humor as alienating,

my spirit as disillusioned,

and suggested to lighten the fuck up.

I’ve never stopped a heart-

I don’t think I have it in me.

I’ve never stopped a heart,

but I’ve just about figured out

how to end this poem

without the heart stopping me.