24

Heartbeats.

That’s how many there were.

Ever.

24.

And each one different.

I remember each one as if it had its own life, its own will.

And I remember her diamond-bright eyes.

I remember a winter’s day.

A winter numbness.

A nakedness of trees,

And a certainty that spring would never come again.

Words spoken over a tiny gap in the earth,

Over a silken, sunset-coloured jar.

Words that couldn’t penetrate my walled heart.

Fell down off a branch I suppose.

I stoop to pick it up,

To see the little oval capsules of life.

A tiny crack slips through one of them.

I secure it up amongst the branches, cover it, wish for its safety:

Here’s your chance, do your best.

Look up and notice:

Blossoms.

Picture credit/discredit: author's own work