if my waking eyes deny this mortality
gather it to breast and appease its fragile thoughts
then that which is clear, must become truth
break godlike and share bread
in this space is reverence and unallied existence.
I think I realized late in life that I have an open heart
no surgery can close:
beating steadily and heavily
pumping tainted tears that represent what I’ve lost;
who I’ve lost.
I’ve lost home
I’ve lost country
I’ve lost love and hope,
but my voice still riots within my throat
pushing past my tongue and the shackles of teeth
to rip pages apart and
etch dangerously close to a reality
that reminds me that loving is equal to living.
And in countries where love is appropriate,
I will send my heart on asylum
to reach shores that will wash it clean,
and allow me to love again.
Gervanna Stephens is a Jamaican poet and proud Slytherin with congenital amputation living in Canada. Her works have appeared/are forthcoming in Moonchild Magazine, Montreal Writes, Mojave Heart, Empty Mirror & WusGood.black. She is Assistant Editor with The /tƐmz/, hates public speaking, has two sisters who are better writers than her & thinks unicorns laugh when we say they aren’t real. Tweets @gravitystephens