Julia Kooi Talen

Given Up Hearts

after Paige Lewis

They will give you images.
Abstracted locations of organs
in bodies. Silver stenciled kidneys, plum liver curves, infrared 

wings of a thyroid. When you memorize each body
part’s edge, you’ll cast a shadow over the whole,
netting the parts that hurt or throb into a small mound. 

Nobody will know what to do with these mounds of pulsing tissues
piling up in the corners of cities near street signs.
Of course there will be street signs, Anyhow Lane and Error Place 

otherwise you won’t know where to find your larynx or your lung
and who can live without that? Mothers?
I guess we can talk about mothers again 

their lotion smells, the sound
of their shoes in the hall, telling you to comb
your clothes and hair, to label your coat 

tags and mini shampoos with initials for camp.
I only went to camp once, and I considered
the lake as one of Saturn’s moons and I kissed fistfuls 

of fountaingrasses. I could ask you to take me to the hill
near that lake, to canoe in the sun-laced water and listen
to the paddle dip and pull before we both capsize and unravel 

to the thin sediment. Often, when I skip stones across Echo
Lake, I give the stone a story and imagine the way it sinks
between bluegills suspended in darkness. I sometimes 

think to stretch the glittered skin of the fish
with the bend of my breath to gather the entire lake into
its anatomy and I’ll find that stone and put it back into the pocket 

of my heart at that corner. My everyday heart with barn red aortas I can’t tell you
which chamber you will find yourself in. You could look at the image,
squint through your eyelashes, and find your shadow 

but you probably don’t want to play a game with me. I bet
you can find your own pulse and reach your hands inside yourself
for all those mapped out bluffs. Either way I will hold your hand. I am 

very good at squinting and will help you find which lung you need.
We can pretend we’re detectives in the big city that fall
in love under street lamps next to given up hearts that thrum rose.

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Julia Kooi Talen is an essayist and poet based in the Midwest where she teaches creative writing and composition. Currently a PhD Candidate in Literature and Creative Writing at the University of Missouri-Columbia, Talen lives with their cat, Otis, and holds an MFA in creative writing from Northern Michigan University as well as an MSW from the University of Denver.