Tag Archives: Erika Nesvold

Impact scars (for Pluto)

Recently a challenge was issued to poets on Twitter by Erika Nesvold. “Poets! There are no impact scars on Pluto’s heart because it’s continuously healing itself with ice. Please get on this”.

Here’s my response.

 
the first crystal forms
nidus in an infant heart
his worn-eyed mother
passes him to a stranger
leaves him for a thousand lifetimes
by the time she returns from her first haircut in a year
the crystal is lodged next to his aorta
her sunlight embrace
fails to melt it

 
at school, those frozen motes grow
with each
and every, taunt
each icicle barb embedded
in cardiac muscle
several of them coalesce
the moment his father says
boys don’t cry

 
his parents marvel
at his barren eyes
when his dog runs off
as if an orphan rock
at the edge of a solar system
they discern no impact scar
the boy has become adept
at mending his heart with ice

 
when his first girlfriend says
she can no longer tolerate
his lack of emotional availability
likens him to a cold grey stone
he watches, mute
her fire unknown to him
the frost gains momentum
glacially spreads to encase his right atrium

 
by the time he is made redundant
both atria are encased
in salty pack ice
clot incubates
in that cardiac refrigerator

 
after the stroke
he orbits his family
in an ever increasing spiral
would spin off into another galaxy
were he not dependent on his wife
who still flinches
if he tries to raise his hand
her death causes his right ventricle to freeze
swollen ankles the first sign of a failing heart

 
he isn’t well-liked
at the nursing home
mostly silent, he sits in his room
at the end of the corridor
no visitors make that trek
his children revolve around warmer bodies
a vanilla sponge from the kitchen
marks each successive year
until all he can swallow is ice-cream

 
when she comes on for the night shift
his half-moon face is turned to the window
sallow, skin tinged with uraemic frost
his ragged breath punctuates their silence
returned to infancy by dementia creep
both ventricles encased
she crushes his tablets, mixing them with strawberry jam
here, Pluto, this will help you breathe
Noor takes his cool thin hand to her cheek
whispers in his ear
one convulsive throe
melts the ice cage
she closes his eyes
notes they are wet

 
My heart may have been damaged by fire. I won’t heal it with ice.