Dear 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.