The Heart is the Last Unoccupied Country
I don’t know how much more
a body can hold
before it forgets
it was meant for living.
I think of that
when someone says
hope is naïve.
And I have questions.
Not the kind you answer though.
The kind that ruin small talk.
Kind you fold up,
put in your pocket,
and hope no one asks for.
Like:
How does a child learn his name
if everyone who spoke it is gone?
How does a father choose
which son to bury when the ground cannot take them all?
What happens to a yell
that never makes it past the ceiling?
And if hope is naïve
then tell me,
what else is left
for the ones who keep breathing?
My love, the heart is the last unoccupied country.
Every revolution begins there.
I ask a girl “What do you dream of?”
She says, “A chair that waits for me, even when I’m late.
And if heaven is real,
then to meet my friend at the gate.”
And I remember the stories we carry:
a mother teaching her child a lullaby
she knows will outlive her.
A boy who carries pieces of his sibling in a bag,
saying, “he is not heavy, he is my brother.”
So when they ask where heaven was,
we will say, "in the march of the people."
Because far from here a shore is burning.
far from here,
men dig with their wedding rings.
Far from here,
the hospital is torn,
time is measured in how long the blood stays warm.
But you want numbers though huh?
Did you know the human body holds about five litres of blood, and it takes only one to keep a child alive?
Did you know bones break more easily
after too many nights without sleep?
Did you know the tongue heals faster than skin,
so even the body knows we have to speak.
Did you know the heart beats one hundred thousand times a day, without once asking for permission?
I don’t know how much more
a body can hold
before it forgets
it was meant for living.
I think of that
when someone says
hope is naïve.
My love,
we don't need bridges, gardens or cities.
We need hope and hope that feels hungry.
So when the bridge is taken, remember:
The heart is the last unoccupied country.