The Lost Part

How, when a heart is dropped along the way
And you can’t get it back, do you go on?
You walk and eat and breathe, and every day
Do all your work, and when a clever con
Is run on you, it’s only one more sting.
But when the sky greys down at dusk, a beat
Is faintly heard. You think that anything
Which once held the lost heart is incomplete,
As air resounds through that cold cavity.
But lips still speak, you chatter when you must
As any primate does, until you see 
That your hand grips a pen, and this is just
What they predicted, should you lose your heart —
That foolish and inconsequential part.
 
 




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Sally Cook is both painter and poet. Whether writ­ing or paint­ing, she keeps a sharp eye out for the psy­cho­log­i­cal por­trait. Her essays and poetry have been pub­lished in jour­nals such as The Chimera, Chron­i­cles, Con­tem­po­rary Son­net, Iambs & Trochees, Pivot, and The For­mal­ist Por­tal. Look for her in the next issue of Light Quar­terly. Cook’s review “Rhyming The Right”, of William Baer’s anthol­ogy “The Con­ser­v­a­tive Poets”, may be seen both in the cur­rent issue of The Uni­ver­sity Book­man and on its website.