Photo by Hannah Busing on Unsplash
My future husband kneels in waves of Grasslands, seeing eternity on the horizon. As he fixes an eye on a world that lasts ceaselessly, I think about pressing my fingers into his sides, sliding through the slates of his ribs, and tugging out his heart. I would hold the muscle in my hand and watch it breathe like a small rabbit in its hutch. He is a blooming flower in my palm, my fingers cupped like fronds casting shadows. I carry his heart as a bouquet on the day of our wedding. And as it beats to the rhythm of my steps on the way to the altar, the drum of each measure makes music louder than my daughters’ objections. No one speaks now. Our bodies hold the peace.
Jane-Rebecca Cannarella (she/her) is a writer and editor living in Philadelphia. She is the editor of HOOT Review and Meow Meow Pow Pow Lit; and a former editor at Lunch Ticket. She is the author of a few books, the owner of a few cats, and the consumer of too much salt. Her proudest moment as a writer was when Radar Online quoted her comment from the Vanderpump Rules Reddit.