(a sonnet)

With charming smile, shining eye, dark curl,

And false affections toying with your heart-

You guarded like her oyster, she your pearl.

Untrue, she fell to rip the love apart.

So sharp an arrow splitting it in two-

Hard, stinging tears fill oceans on her face.

Unknown to her your sorrow at adieu,

By faith forgotten in dark and starry place;

Unknown to you, in covert of the night,

How rivers dry and dam from bank to bank,

Impenetrable to foul lovers’ might

Cruel Fortune’s chains beneath the waves are sunk,

But stronger from soft ashes does she rise:

An eagle soaring higher in clear skies.

A broken heart is not a thing,

Like fallen Christmas ornaments,

Shattered by a fall onto unforgiving tile.

Your hot glue gun and furtive effort:

A practice in valiant futility.

Such a tender artifact, once hurt,

Must be received with care, and

Gentle lullabies sung from

lark and nightingale,

soft,

To pacify the fragile infant broken

By sorrow.

A temporary invalid-

“It’s only a phase”-

Should be spoonfed,

By a loving caregiver,

Saccharin words like molasses or a Sinatra song.

In elementary school,

The nurse could solve any ailment

With cough drops and band-aids.

But an illness of the heart

Is immune.

It is not a broken toy.

It doesn’t need new batteries

Or tape or Dad’s tools;

No matter how many times I try,

Only with Time might my tears dry.