I started falling apart today,
starting with my pinkie,
which fell down the drain
as I brushed my teeth.
I left my ear on the couch
where I tied my shoes,
left my knee on the stove
where I cooked bacon, eggs.
I left my left foot in my car
when I limped into the coffee shop,
then left my right foot right where
I cracked jokes with the barista.
My thumb is in the bookstore,
both my arms are at the church.
I’ll give my organs to the hospital
(where they’ll put them to better use)
My head should be stored in the school
(nothing like Walt)
and my torso left on the side
of the road for those birds to pick at.
But you, you can have my heart.
Here, hold it, not too tight.
And as it beats and drips blood
into your hands, you’ll know
this is all I have left
and it’s yours.
Caleb James Stewart
Caleb James Stewart is a graduate student in Creative Writing at Stephen F. Austin State University. His work has been featured in the South Florida Poetry Journal and Santa Ana River Review.
Artwork: Arthur Rackham, 1922, public domain.