The Oft-Broken Heart

I live in an oft-broken heart. I try my best to get around in it. There are jagged edges and sudden drop-offs that never cease to shock me. I forget that I need to re-sod some of the grass and pull the overgrown periwinkles. Ah, but I have a lot to do.

Every time I try to reinsulate my heart, the rains break through the roof again. I have thought of putting a cow up there and sodding the whole thing for her to eat—just like in a fairy-tale. Maybe I could throw the beans of old belongings out the window and have them grow into a wondrous vine.

Maybe your heart is just like mine—a broken-down old wreck of a place that used to be a palace. There are reminders of its glory days and its halcyon heights. I sometimes wind around the lane of long-lost loves and get strong whiffs of lavender. The Queen Anne’s Lace grows idly by the byroads of my heart these days and the seed pods are waving gently everywhere I look.

It’s not that this heart of mine has seen better days; it is stronger than ever in many ways. It knows its own worth now and how hard it has beat with every loving effort to transcend itself. I bow low to my heart; I really do. But consider how it needs to be loved by angels and by passers-by. Maybe you will be the one today to wish me well. I can meet you by the shady post where the ferns grow wild. Don’t be afraid.

Vicki Woodyard
Circa 2000