Notes on the Physiognomy of Heartbreak
to dry in the mojave sun.
it grew beautiful for a moment,
beautiful as all the poetry in the world.
muscle fibers stiffened and swung
ever so slightly in the rarefied air,
paling against the blue blue of the desert sky.
to dust or stone and fall silent.
i let my heart to drink from bleached desert ground,
its fingers spread out among lonelinesses.
the lesson of heat and sky:
it must become harder
to breathe before it becomes softer.
Joanna Suzanne Lee lives in Richmond, Virginia where she organizes and hosts monthly reading series, open mics, and workshops. Her first book, the somersaults I did as I fell, was released in 2009. Her work has appeared in Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, Caduceus, Contemporary American Voices, and VCU’s Medical Literary Messenger, among others. She writes (semi-)regularly at the-tenth-muse.com.
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