And because it is my heart

I read this in a spoken word show and started laughing a few lines into it because I saw the friend I referenced in the front row. Moral of story: don’t look at the audience.

I’m here tonight to speak to you about isotopes,

Like the H2 in H20

and in the H-bomb

like vinegar and honey mixed in one jar

life is like the tragedy we can’t stop watching,

not despite but for its bitterness like hearts

whose isotopes can’t fit one definition

what is always there

becomes, like teardrops crystallized, varied.

The other day I walked down wayland square and mourned someone from winter, the east coast year’s first isotope.

Next time I pass through there I’ll think of thoughts of being with him

And then I’ll think of thoughts of my petty thoughts

And how thinking gets lost in thought

And thoughts get lost in space.

Memories have many isotopes.

Fresh out of eyes, they’re sad,

But soon solidify into frozen time capsules.

My friend discovered real blood looks quite similar to real blood when fresh.

Poking her finger with a pin she watched it spurt

Beside its sugar-based counterpart, glowing brightly

Like frsh harpoons that mark a good day’s hunt

And then it darkened and solidified

Bodies carry blood because they need to

Not because it’s sugary or bright.

It’s bitter.

Its yicky makeup makes us live stronger.

We know which one is fake because it stays pretty

And nature’s not concerned with prettiness.

It won’t discriminate between isotopes.

And if life was made with love, and love spawns life, everything lifelike must be loveable.

So before you rush for the band aids,

see

that beauty’s not just pain, pain is beauty

that clouds are tinted, not just lined, silver.

“so, here’s the good news,” friends and relatives will say. “there are so any fishes in the sea.  They will console you and replace what you have lost. “

forget this search for waves lined silver and filled with isotopes of a prince panacea

Look.  Can’t

you see the clouds through every drop of Earth’s lifelike

and sour rain?  It takes some work to learn seeing

in silver when the screen will say it’s gray.

Clichés are wrong, and who needs fish anyway?

The bitter water’s salty but enough swimming

can take you to your destined land.  Besides, salty

things aren’t all that bad.  Potato chips

are isotopes of salty, and we all recall Warheads.

We loved the pain that twisted younger tongues into

grotesque expressions, sad and sour and damn funny.

Not all the routes we take will be uphill,

nor should they be.  We hike the Grand Canyon,

not despite– but for–its downward steps winding

toward knowledge deep and through the bitter air.  Movies

Present a certain teleology:

The proper stories end atop mountains

and on the way, abruptly, the perplexed traveler

is overcome by revelations, can’t fathom

just how she failed to realize earlier

conveniently, she loves her hot best friend!

Perhaps if we lived under human gods

They’d write a comedy

an outcome was convenient would affect fact, but

actual experience finds tragic heroes written into plot after plot,

driven by tragic flaws.

It’s the thrill of the downfall that keeps us grounded

And takes us somewhere new.

Just when I think I’ll see a fairy tale ending

the screen goes blank and white noise drowns the scene: princess,

the prince who cannot save her, and the epiphany

that he’s an isotope of  addiction.

And then my heart is bitter on a night ensconced in a negativly-charged  electric cloud, and kept stable by the balance of neutrons.

Bitter like dark chocolate, which I

devoured with friends last Wednesday as we shared poetry

and spoke of spring.

I loved it not despite

but for its bitterness: the way hearts taste.

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