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On 4:43 PM by Rachel Preston Prinz in
my heart has pounded so hard it broke
again and again and again
and the only balm that would soothe it is always invisible to me
until it is not

the sound of the hawk's wings slicing the air
like knives made of pillows
divebombing the white winged dove
missing my head by just a few feet
and startled by me as much as I by it,
missing the dove too
landing and squawking its dissatisfaction briefly
as we stare at each other for a moment
before it takes off into the dark evergreen tree in the neighbor's yard
the one they will use for roosting between baby hawk training flights
in just a few weeks now

the dark stranger child who clamors onto my lap
and lets me hold her
the way I always wished I had been
and was
but it was so long ago I can't remember
the way my gram would play with my hair til I fell asleep
let me cry until my tear well dried up
and stayed that way for a LONGGGGGGG time
I hold her like the child inside me who longs to be held forever
and she smiles and stays and doesn't move
until I make her

the spiraling quills of a tiny cactus
10 years old and smaller than my fingernail
spiraling towards and away from the center of the universe
which all belonged to it
I could feel it breathing in ancient breaths that lasted longer than my life will be
a flower so small
you need a jeweler's loop to see it

my body
beautiful fat body
still limber and still succulent
even though it feels like its not even mine anymore 
still oozing with sex and love and lust and magic
still ripe with possibilities

as if the young woman who is buried inside
is still so young she doesn't know any better
all she longs to do is taste the world
and love it with wild abandon

my dying eyes
so tired
that when I close them,
the scent of fresh-cut lilac
and cinnamon and saffron and turmeric spices from week old Moroccan food
penetrates into the soul of my being
reminding me that even without my eyes
I'm still be able to see
and that's why that little child loves my lap

everflowing fountain within me
born from the crack in the mountain I am,
my heart bleeds, ripe... with life, experience, and a willingness to see the unseen

and that is why
I am not afraid
of my heart cracking open