My Heart on the Table

Ashley Ellen Goetz

There it is. I spilled it. It. Laying there. All gooey and oozing on the table. My heart. It burst and I shared it with you. And there it is, all leaning there. All, on the table. There. Is that what you wanted? You poke at it. Prod it with your finger. In your head. It’s not what you expected. It disintegrates. It turns to dust. Your careless touch. Or perfect. I cry. I’m dizzy. I fall over. I spiral apart into a new galaxy. A gust of wind comes and blows my heart away. It is no longer. The world collapses. The dream. It breaks its logic. The dream space. It is filled with white. Filled with air. Filled with thoughts. It is empty. Or it is now full. With some other thing now. Some other element. Some juice now. Wine now. Some smoke now. Good thoughts now. And kindness. And good vibes. On good shoulders. And knee slaps. And friendly gazes that run real deep. Deeper than we can even get at. Too far to tug. Way down. Rooted to the well hole. Where you will never get out once you climb down. The well cap will seal the light out. And you will only sink down, way below the surface. Your pick will not tunnel a path quickly enough for you to reach the daylight for it will be bleached out. Blue forever. White forever. Red forever. Black. Its image permanently affixed to your retinas, burned in place, this stuff. This what do we call it? This friendship? This brotherhood? Ahoy mate. Meet Captain Patch. Mender of dreams.