Unframed Centerpiece

I had a dream I

became your unframed centerpiece

you opened a drawer,

took out scissors, and

cut a dotted line across my chest,

carved out my heart but left my lungs

to their final breath.

Elected not to color by numbers

but chose rather to brush and sew

your favorite shades instead,

then explained why you wouldn’t need

any hues of red. Something about

my heart’s desire for those strings

would come after so I could backstitch what was left,

except later I found nothing

relating to this or love’s remaining threads.

Then you picked me up like a canvas

and glued layers like paper-mâché

commented how you like to use my heart

as your art because art is your escape

hung me on your wall naked, then left

after telling me that I should be displayed.

And not just anywhere, somewhere like a museum

so I looked at you while hanging and dismissed that claim.

I said, “Darling, if that were true,

you would have found the time to stay

or after hanging me naked,

bothered to put me in a frame.”