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I purchased this painting

from a tall artist

thirty times four days ago

in Taos, New Mexico,


following a frightful phase

ending with shattered glass,

and my heart sticking

to the cupboards and floor.


It spoke to something

seared open inside,

an organ grand bursting wide.

I cried and cried in that time.


When a heart explodes,

it spreads outside,

bursts through earlobes,

needles its way through nostrils,


sinks into sheets

with sighs then sobs.

Everything gets softened.

Fireworks light up


the lining of the lungs,

shoelaces holding

parts together

come undone.


Little by little

a thread moves in,

a needle its neighbor,

a string then a stitch,


wool pulled through rebuilding,

beating begins.

Pulsing peeks

with weary eyes,


decides to reside

among the living again.

The specimen sings

through the mending


like a knitting grandmother

in her rocking chair

humming away cares.

Yellow roses blossom


over torn tendrils.

Thorns quietly lie beside them,

offering gentle protection. 

Fragrance finds family


in the garden,

earth escapes

into quiet caves there.

Beings buzz


inside the temple

holding the soul.

I till its soil,

give great care,


kiss the skin within,

make peace

with where I’ve been,

know choices lead


to a new, improved heart,

alive in a more spiritual realm,

with celestial characters

catering to its needs.


I see light leaking

in through peepholes,

wisdom making

this hole in me whole.


By Suzanne Beranek