Sediment, thick-grained, wet,

clogs in the folds of it,

weighing down the velvet of it,

drenching its satin lining, warping

and rusting it where wood and

metal meet to open or to close.

Such a battered box of a heart,

pungent with mildew, dingy

with weather and time, stiff

in its hinges; what will be

made of it when it is placed

on the scales, the great, wet

weight of it measured against

a feather?

∞

From the Spring 2013 issue of Inquiring Mind (Vol. 29, No. 2)

© 2013 Jenna Nielsen