Wow. I'm almost halfway through this challenge. I can't believe that -- and at the same time, I practically expect these kinds of miracles from my Poetry Workshoppers every year, so welcome, Laurie, to HypocriteLand.
Another snowy day in the middle of April has not only sapped me of imagination and good feeling, but it has drained my imagination. So I'm going to cadge from an assignment book -- open Kim Addonizio's Ordinary Genius at random and make myself do whatever assignment comes up.
Okay. The assignment is to wake up a cliche. So, the first one that comes to mind is: My heart is broken.
*
Damage
The muscle nestled in the middle
of my chest
the thump-thump lump
of airy gristle
a minute ago fluttered at my ribs
feathery feet and hollow shell
but when you stopped smiling
when you refused to talk
when you curled your fingers
into fists
it slowed and swelled and
filled with bitter blood
then popped like
a pinched tick
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