The Heart, 1899
by Rheana Rafferty

Strawberry life-blood
Loins open and shut
Elastic pressure
Pass from one street to the other
Just a host of little lanes through which you must find way

The fish’s blackish thread running along its backbone
Ready for table
Purified dead matter
Bright and red
Draw nearer together

Ticking never needing to be wound
Four rooms, four tablespoons,
Twenty-two counts
Threescore years and ten
Restless journey

A closed fist
Hollow, horseshoe bend
As brooks unite to form a river whirling
Worn-out drop of blood
A circle without a break