13:2: “Cardyssey”, by Virginia M. Mohlere

13:2: “Cardyssey”, by Virginia M. Mohlere

If my muse were to sing of the heart,
he would need
a set of pans to throw down the stairs
and a flute bored from a red­tail’s leg.

He would sing­o­muse­the­rage,
to a lullaby, a Badlands sunrise in F major,
plaintive howls of trains.

That old muse needs no percussion –-
waves lap against the heart’s canoe,
even when it forgets to paddle,
staring instead
at sunshine navigating branch mazes,
or waving hello
to its moony friend.

“We’re not singing of storms today,”
my muse tells me.
He picks up a birchwood geetar
built by my cousin Tim.
The heartsong my muse sings
is a quiet campfire thing,
a little tune for autumn.

The heart has reaped a summer’s harvest,
set itself down and borne the pruning.
The air has gone clear with promises.

Virginia M. Mohlere was born on one solstice, and her sister was born on the other. Her chronic writing disorder stems from early childhood. Her fiction and poetry have appeared in Cabinet des Fées, Chiaroscuro, Mythic Delirium, Strange Horizons, and Mad Scientist Journal, among others. It’s a toss-­up where you are more like to have tea, yarn, or stationery fall on you when visiting her house. She says:

A friend of mine. Dr. Vanessa Heggie (a professor of the history of sports medicine in the UK) wrote a paper called “A Century of Cardiomythology: Exercise and the Heart c. 1880-­1980”. The word “cardiomythology” lodged itself deep into my brain, and I’ve been working on a series of poems about it since. The first poem in the series appeared in the the Fall 2012 issue of Goblin Fruit. My cousin Tim is really a musician and occasional luthier, though he hasn’t built me a birchwood guitar. Yet.

Photograph of hoarfrost in Niedersachsen, Germany, by Daniel Schwen, is provided under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license.

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