If my heart was a bird it would be a starling
Pecking for spent fries in the dust under a picnic bench
In front of the McDonald’s in Modesto.
If my heart was a sound it would be the last echo of a rumor Whispered silently about an unspoken rule.
If my heart was a car it’d be parked in a mirage garage.
If my heart was a body of water you’d be able to see
The fathomless murk,
The benthic chasms,
The world of ink.
My dark real estate.
And if my heart was a room
There would be a small window
Looking out over the fjords.
In the center of the room would be a table.
On the center of the table would be a jar.
In the jar would be some pennies.
That is, if my heart was a room.
But my heart is not a room.
Or a sound.
Or a bird.
My heart is none of those things.
It’s just a heart
Smelling like everyone’s
And tarnished copper.