6/4/12

How Many Ways
By A.J. Huffman


can a single heart break . . .

1. A smile sent in the opposite direction.
Following a skirt that does not belong to me.
A twinge. A tweak. The seams are weak
and a small fissure begins to swell.

2. An off-hand remark. I like what you are
not. So firm. So final. So matter-of-fact-in-my-face
blinding. I see only stars. The blacked out fiends
(not friends). The swelling has opened a slow leak.

3. A silent void shatters a perfect moment. His
eyes travel to a world that has nothing to do with me
and now. And I am forced to wait. Silent. Tearless.
Hoping the awkward emptiness fills again (quickly)
with his smiles. The leak is now a numbing tear.

4. A foiled wrapper falls. Forgotten? Obviously,
used. Not with me. I pick it up. Mute
the message. Somehow that cements it further
into the forefront. I paste a fresher smile. The tear
is now a blackening hole.

5. A length is told. A one and a word that shatters
more than my world. Time and space lose so much
[beyond meaning]. I lose so much
more than I had imagined. This first is a finale
I had not counted. On the hole exploding
through my chest.


- - -
A.J. Huffman is a poet and freelance writer in Daytona Beach, Florida. She has previously published three collections of poetry: The Difference Between Shadows and Stars, Carrying Yesterday, and Cognitive Distortion. She has also published her work in national and international literary journals such as Avon Literary Intelligencer, Writer's Gazette, and The Penwood Review. Find more about A.J. Huffman, including additional information and links to her work at http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000191382454 and https://twitter.com/#!/poetess222.