Feeding Her Heart

She blames the caffeine for
that thunderous thrumming
coursing viscous flow.
She peers at her wrists,
wonders why she can’t see
the cells whitewater rafting
through her veins.
Mindlessly, she eats
another cookie,
wonders if maybe sugar
is the stampeding culprit.

The answer is, “fine.”
It’s always fine and
sometimes even dandy.
And she wouldn’t even worry
except for that thrumming.
The lapping at her ears
keeps her awake at night.
It sounds like a thousand crickets
or one bursting heart.

The cookie is a distant memory
as she pops a french fry
into her mouth.
It’s all fine and good
but she really needs
new pants because these
ones are old, yeah, old.

What would happen
if the thrumming stopped?
If the chewing slowed?
If her mind sat still
on that flat rock?
If, instead of crickets
she heard the truth in her ear?
What would happen
if she stopped trying
to feed her heart?


  1. Oh, this really grabs me and makes me want to cry.

  2. Powerful write, Bug...I have a love affair with food...

  3. I am sitting at my desk with tears rolling down my face. I recognize this person....it is me.

  4. Hey Bug,

    Your post is introspective with sad undertones, but always with heart. No pressure because it all comes out in the wash and crickets are lucky. Thank you for sharing. =D

  5. Very moving, Dana. Beautifully done. I so envy your way with prose.


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