Grouse Heart Ghazal

The deep thrum goes silent, felled by a shotgun at dusk.
Gravel road dust settles in the gloaming, cradling us.

Field-dressed feathers flutter, yellow beech leaves linger,
a raw heart held between two fingers beats and thrusts.

Body balanced in palm; quivering flesh becomes stillness.
Seeds stay cool all winter, nestled under decaying musk.

Aorta on lips, warm blood in mouth, heart
splits smoothly, held in my cheek-tooth cusp.

All our hearts are built from the same sketch,
ventricles drumming in the language of lust.

The grouse heart beats in me, asking
Who is like God? Each of us.

Michael Garrigan writes and teaches along the Susquehanna River in Pennsylvania and believes every watershed should have a Poet Laureate. He is the author of two poetry collections–River, Amen and Robbing the Pillars. His writing has appeared in Orion Magazine, River Teeth, North American Review, and The Hopper Magazine. He was the Artist in Residence for The Bob Marshall Wilderness Area in 2021. You can find more of his writing at www.mgarrigan.com.

Published April 15 2023