Call the Department of Transportation.
Tell them Mary’s heart is a runaway. That she
needs one in her own
back yard. Or her kitchen.
The trouble she gets in
rolling down hills with the gear shift
broken. (In her medicine cabinet?)
(Her bed?) Perhaps an operation is required,
implant a mini ramp in her rib cage
to stop that foolish thing
from falling all over the place.
– photo and poem by mary macgowan
Songs for the Pure of Heart 
months after i came back from san antonio, i retrieved a hair clip from my travel bag. an acorn rolled out. there are no such things in montana. hello, texas. hello, last fall.
do you need a heart ramp too, to catch those acorns?