The Robert Watson Literary Prize Poem TO HAVE BEEN ON FIRE

Spring 2012: Issue 91

Jill Osier

The mind goes, eventually,

where it needs to go.  As does the body.

 

Not so with the heart.

The heart has nothing for need.  It sits in a little hut, and all the

      roads

are well-worn, all the wagons breaking.

 

Tonight’s breakthrough is I try to lull myself

by imagining that I have been badly burned.

 

In the drawings I can’t draw there is a new window

open on the left side of my neck.  The lulling is for this,

for shutting it.