Most people's hearts
live in their chests
and beat beneath their
ribcage like the wings of birds.
Like windmills making
sunshine, they keep forget-me-nots growing
create just enough
heart-space
to keep the world
turning.
But my heart has never
known the feel of feathers.
Its windmills run on
moonbeams that provide light to the stars.
My heart starts on the
inside, grows out to my skin,
and beats like a
time-bomb, tick-tick-ticking
from the outside in.
Opened to the world
with a hole to my center
my heart is a wishing
well: drop in a penny
I'll give you a
quarter-full of hope and a dime of praise,
but some hearts house
sheets, big as the night,
that threaten the spark
of 2-year-old boys
and those hearts house wishing
wells
that my quarters and
dimes can't begin to fill up.
Their outstretched
hands let love drop through their fingers
and we watch as the
coins I hand them
become litter on the
ground.
But the darker the
night
the brighter the light
beneath that sheet
and some days I'm a
wishing well,
but some days I'm a
star,
and I want you to know:
I'm fighting for you, Little
Guy.
I'm one light in the
darkness
pouring some love out
into this world
while picturing your
face.
I'm allowing my hope to
course from the inside out
pulsating on fear and
hard decisions;
I'm fighting for you,
Little Man.
I'm wishing on wishing
wells
'cause even with dreams
and education
degrees and good
intentions,
when the wound is this
deep
it's impossible to
patch up the bleed.
I slipped love like
pennies in your pockets
held your face between
my hands
and looked in your eyes,
hoping my gaze could save you.
I tied your shoes as if
tying hope to your person could give you wings to fly away and
snapped the belts on
your stroller
as if fastening prayers
to the lips of your god.
And then I let you go
with a grandmother whose heart read
"closed for
repairs."
And then I let you go
to a mother with cacti in her wishing well heart
and a hand that pushes
away my offerings.
But I've got your
pennies, Little Guy.
I'm holding on to your wishes
and dreams.
I've housed them with
your forget-me-nots that I'll water
to ensure they keep
growing
'cause I swear
with every centimeter
of my too big heart
that you, Little Man,
are priceless,
and I've seen your
spark, you--
you're smart, Little
Man,
I see it in your round,
brown eyes,
the way you curled your
body around mine
and wouldn't let go.
Your potential
is big as the moon, and
I can't promise
that this dark time is
just an eclipse,
but I'm wishing
on every penny I have
left to give
that by the time you
turn three
you'll be able
to live.