Saptarshi Dutt, Featured Writer, Poetry 2016

My Heart

I buried everything you gave me
In the orchard.
Then I let the silenceĀ 
Come on like a good drug.
Already, the gunships loom.
Now the swallows
Come to me in sleep. And a boy
Whispers of Saint Francis and the wolf
He broke. In the sanitarium, some Christian brothers
Come offering solace.
But my heart is the smallest
Catafalque. Always,
I was such a strange sort of
Princess. Hiding in the horseweed with my crosses,
Yellow-haired and feral in the woods.
Now, neither birds nor the sea can save me.

Set me in the field and let the stars
Have their way.

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