Ventricle

by Steve Toase

Disguised as a wormcast, Sopdet’s heart was fragile.
Ventricles of crumbled soil.
Origami valves pumped
an argot of forgotten
names
into the air.
He held the heart
in a sweat damp palm.
Nestled against calluses.
For a moment,
he considered its taste.
Then,
let the heart
fall
into
the
cracked clay beside his feet,
rubbed his hands clean
upon fraying jeans,
and did not hear
the heartbeat,
over worms
masticating the dirt.

Words-links: fallen, heart, goddesses

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