Dissection of a Broken Heart

When I dissected a lamb’s heart in biology class
the teacher said it wasn’t much different to a human’s.
I thought perhaps all of the boys I’d kissed so far,
had carried scalpels tucked in their pockets,
believing I needed surgery.

You never studied anatomy,
but were able to pull at the bruises I’d strung into necklaces
around my neck.
At night, I curled beside you
like a comma clings to the legs of a word.
You stayed awake
building a storm shelter around my body.

I confessed I was scared, when I’d held the lamb’s heart
between my brittle fingers.
You said, dead hearts cannot be harmed.
I said, they cannot be fixed either.

— “Dissection of a broken heart,” Alaska Gold