Dear PortiaDear Portia, you can love anyone given enough hours, but our hearts always beat like this: I have / to leave, I have / to leave, I have / to leave. I heard the doctor tell another man the heart is an organism within an organism—it can feel & account for itself. / I've spent years trying to regrow in the dark. Dear Portia, do not confuse this for a discussion about time or light. Dear Portia, bring the bucket & wear your white crocheted dress so I can tell you the pattern reminds me of the bones of every small thing winter unstitched. The heart saws through its cage / though it knows it will dry out. Dear Portia, I am never sure & you are always right: the heart is that friend we are always concerned for, but can never do anything about. Jenny Boychuk is a recent graduate of the University of Victoria's Department of Writing. Her poetry has appeared in Room Magazine, and her creative non-fiction is forthcoming in The Malahat Review. She is currently hiding out and writing in rural British Columbia, Canada, where she grew up. |