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Song for Cathy to Sing

by Darryl Price

The snap of a broken heart is exactly

One second longer than this poem is going

To be when it finishes up being said . The snap

Of a broken heart is unlike anything that

Cartwheels out of sync with the rest of

Us truly lucky ones. The broken snap of a

Heart will echo around the room like a

Dying rock kicked or tossed aside without even the latest indifferent regret behind it.

The snap of a broken heart is like

A tree branch during a thunderstorm, it no

Longer fits in any window. The snap of a

Broken heart is the thorax of a butterfly

Under the thumb of a clumsy, chubby child;

It cannot repair itself after that much heavy

Lifting, and never will again. The snap of

A broken heart is the spilling of coconut

Milk from the moon's own torn apart bosom.

The snap of a broken heart is the

Sensational car crash of the new last century.

The snap of a broken heart is the

Blunt sound of dirt hitting the blade of

A monster machine, looking and never finding a

Snug fitting soul to encapsulate. The snap of

A broken heart is the scream of a

Barely concealed root cut in half without a

Worm's reconstituting wit to mend its form. The snap of

A broken heart is nobody's secret fortress any

Longer. The snap of a broken heart means

Only one thing, you are no more a

Possible painting, only the forgotten mashed easel on the ground; your

Colors will never mix into new meanings again,

They've blown their alphabetical statement into final struck glass angels of light.

We're Not A Balloon Animal

by Darryl Price

"I have whole days where I feel like the ghost of a child."--Richard Brautigan

Nobody knows. This cage's a heavy pair of binoculars. It brings trees close, but not close enough

so you can reach out and touch bark with your bare fingers, which is all

you want to do. That's its stupid ruse. Oh, you'll have clouds I suppose floating

momentarily within your grasp, but they too soon tire of your vain attempts to make

morning mean day.

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Author's Note

It hurts to see people hurting. It's not only their faces, but their whole bodies that tell you of their sorrow. I'm just a poet. I'm not a doctor or a psychologist, but I am a person. I write with an honest purpose, and to give a compassionate response to what I see and hear. If that is in any way a healing hand laid upon a wounded heart, so be it. I am thankful for it in all of us.