my heart was too big for my body
so i let it go

my hear was too big for my body
so i tied a string to the end of
it & watched it float over
me like a helium balloon
on the ceiling of the dollar store--
i took it with me & we went
outside where it turned into 
a song bird-- a cardinal-- & perched 
in the branches of the tree
outside my house-- the evergreen
one that sheds orange-needle
stubble in october--
it sat up there & i asked it to
take me with it--
i want 
to swallow air & float up
as aimless as a 'happy birthday'
balloon 
& my heart
bit the string with her beak
& became another cloud
that sometimes looks like
a polar bear or a great big
grandmother's face-- 
slowly dispersing--
i waited on the back porch
for it to come back--
left out bird seed & turned on
the radio to the 90s station
that it likes so much &
sometimes i would think i heard
it calling but it might have just been
the cicadas crooning
forever to each other 
from all corners of this night--
in the morning i opened the windows 
to the house in the hopes
it would return
on a gust of cool wind or
as quiet as a shed leaf--
i baked a cake made entirely 
of promises & it tasted like
angel food--
left it on the kitchen table
as an offering
on a white plate with 
a fork & a folded napkin--
i've spent so many days trying
to get my heart to give up
all its feathers--
i think of the time 
at the beach when
it became a dragon-shaped kite--
tail flapping & my feet
pounding the hot sand to
keep up--
i walked on water-- the
ocean a mirror & my face
was as bright as the
sun in the water & i pulled
my heart down from
the string & caught it in my
arms as it turned into 
a wave-- a splash of water against
my body-- broken mirror
in a thousand shards of 
water--
i fell into myself & 
the ocean rained backwards
& i remember how much i miss
it-- that feeling of
crashing--
eating the leftover cake 
the front door opens &
my heart comes back to me--
a little girl with pigtails 
& a basket filled with
stuffed animals-- she's missing 
two teeth in the front &
the shoulder strap of her dress
is snapped from playing to
much like a gust of window--
she turns doorknobs &
becomes an orchid for
the window-- i ask it if
it's staying this time-- 
if there will ever be a day when
i can hold on just tight enough--
& of course it doesn't answer
& a window blows
through the open windows 
of the house