The Fabric of the HeartIf you peel back the pericardium, snap the thick sac, tear
the heart from the ligaments binding it to the spinal cord and diaphragm, lift the pulsing machine in your hand, and move to the light for closer inspection, would you find that the fabric of the heart is parallel to the texture of the owner’s personality? Would mother be a sensible calico, father burlap knobby like tree bark, sister cords of corduroy discontent, and the lone duck who sits in my front yard without his mate, the one he has proudly waddled around with for a month, his plump mottled gold beauty, who has suddenly gone missing, would his heart be shredded satin similar to the material that lines a coffin and blankets a lifeless body? Or if you peel back the pericardium, snap the thick sac, tear the heart from the ligaments binding it to the spinal cord and diaphragm, lift the pulsing machine in your hand, and move to the light for closer inspection, would you find that you have simply stopped the heart from beating and it suddenly sits smooth like the satin grass the lonely male duck rests in waiting for his missing mate? ("The Fabric of the Heart" originally appeared in The Amsterdam Quarterly) |