A Fable Of Sorts, Of Hearts

the most expensive hearts he said,
the funny man in the heart shop
rather like a clock shop

are those that overflow
with gladness, break with sadness
cannot be contained

and so grow wings
and float heavenward.
then how have you kept them

here, queried the traveler
in his less than invisible cloak.
but he drew down the shades

and latched the latch
and I could never catch him
afterwards in the streets

to finish the story.
and I often think of the rick and the rack
the folkloric borders of what cannot be ascertained

when kept at home by rains

of the painful hearts
in the little heart shop,
trapped.

mary angela douglas 5 august 2016