frogcircus.org

the poetry of Charles Fry

post

2015–

defi

2009–2013

belle

2007–2002

dada

2002–1999

sundance

1999–1997

frere

1997–1995

julian

1995–1994

stone

1994–1993

15 February 1996

my heart

I have this little heart hidden in my chest.
It is red.
Or that is what they tell me.
I must never remove the lock to look inside and see.
So I examine the wooden box; the varnish is still so new.
Not too many scratches or cracks.
Just carry it around, they tell me.
Watch where you're going and do not trip and nothing will go wrong.
Well, I tried so hard -- especially at first.
But then they kicked me and threw rocks.
Dodge and run and try to persuade them but no one can hear me.
I know something is broken inside because it rattles,
as if at the next step it will all burst open.
And how do I know that nothing's fallen out already or been stolen while I was sleeping?
I can not always watch my box.
Once I tried prying it open with a crowbar, and now the lid is warped.
But something red did seep out.
Not much, and it stopped when I hugged it close to my body.
And the next day I sewed a small patch on my shirt to cover up the stain,
so I can not really show you.
Just believe me when I say that it was red.

Though not bright and shiney like a wagon,
but rather weathered and worn like the moon will be.

 forgotten memories   of being burned at the stake   sweet dreams   sharing   hand-in-hand   the stranger   hidden courtyards   holding You   princess   happy day   loneliness   fragile, handle with care   my small trip to the cement factory   dedication   this record is for You   the day that I cried   Last night I woke up under my bed.   my silver Dancing shoes   Man my heart tears.   the three things   strait jackeght   like you   abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz   Fire cooks me   Princess Alexandra:  A Little Story   cats up cat twice   sweet rain water   little children   my heart   How blind I am in wooden glasses.   I know she's crying cause it stains her voice,   Dear Family,   I pound at my heart   We run away from the ice cream truck   purple sunset   J. Elephant   so i walk up to you with this   the Soul queen   so, you say that i do not speak   window   dear sweet old Ordinary   i am a Harp