Meditation in a State of Urgency and Hope
by Abigail Moone
after Cameron Awkward-Rich
Hand on my heart. Hand on my stupid heart. Clutch wallet
and heart both, close to chest. Forgotten sunrise,
unremarkable souvenir postcards, another dropped call, too
many black clothes for not enough mourning. Always in
mourning. Tragic. I am in love with you from 3,922 miles
away. Yes, I checked. I count, all of it. The numbers are as
follows. Tearful strangers: too many. Hopeful, luminous,
precious strangers: all of them. What makes a stranger?
Unfamiliar stories? Wary hearts? Too much tiptoeing. Are
we strangers? But I used to hope for this color of love.
Brilliant. Hand on my heart. Stupid. Oldest auburn. Love !
Submerged in birdsong and knotted limbs. Can’t breathe. I
want to shock you. Memorize me, world. Hand stitch fingers
and hearts. Ours together. To myself. Tender. Hand on my heart.
Hand on my stupid hopeful heart. Our hands (all of them)
(I love you) stuck forever. Rest here. Stay here, in my
hopeful heart.