Floating on the internet, a disembodied hand palms a pig’s heart, all washed in Ivory dish soap, immaculate and clean of its porcine protein. Doctors hope to grow something human on this pimpled pump. Someone said it was the heart of a ghost because it could become anything, could shatter like glass if dropped. Someone made a meme, said: This is how boys’ hearts be for the rest of their lives after one girl hurts them. The heart’s chambered walls are absolute, and deep inside the quartet of atria, sits a girl: the blamed-one, the bride. She’s packed her hope chest with a milk glass bud vase no bigger than her hand, a candy dish, a shallow bowl all wrapped in yards of washed lace human cells. Someday, the heart will be buried deep in a chest. I love a task with a beginning and an end, with walls that stop me in my tracks, clean.
Guest Editor Shibazrule, aka Lisa D. Chavez, is a poet based in New Mexico. Her poetry books include Destruction Bay (West End Press) and In An Angry Season. (University of Arizona Press). She also writes memoir and fiction, and teaches in the MFA program at the University of New Mexico. She’s delighted to have the opportunity to be Guest Editor here at The Coop for the month of August.