For Whom

My heart and brain have somehow traded places. I'm unsure when the transaction occurred, but I know it did. My chest has a new fullness to it: an uncomfortable weight, and my head is empty: my heart rolls around in there, frightened by the space. It keeps bumping against the bone, unable to control the palpitations that come with unexpected travel. If only it could stay still, it could save itself from bruising, but the heart beats and flutters like a dumbfounded bug trying desperately to escape through the closed window. And my brain-oh the brain-suddenly squashed in with other organs, forced to compete with the lungs, begging for blood. It pushes against the sternum, alive and afraid, and my chest rises with a new meaning. My brain is like a ship that's suddenly realized it's been built in the bottle, and that feeling of freedom was merely a folktale. Something bad will come of this, for the body only knows what it's been taught, and everyone wants an answer.

(k)