trout

Poem

Claire Hero

Don't worry what the heart wants.
When asked, it winces in its cage,
offers only a bait-and-switch, small trap
of guess, guess again.
                         (I wish I could
be that dependable.)
                                   Instead,
seek the wishes of something more
what—capable? crass?:
                         the elbow, perhaps?
that greasy joint, its awkward pucker;
or the knee, though it cracks
under its own momentum?
                                   Each opens
and closes, it's like a heart, it hides and reveals
what goes unnamed, what is most sensitive and known
only by its opposite.
                                   Of course,
others may not agree. You're a terror
to sleep with, everything's a pilgrimage,
but look, that's how you get to the front
of the queue. That's how everyone notices you.