Things Are Always Being Destroyed Very Slowly - Stephanie Willis

Things are always being destroyed very slowly Yes, even you,

those soft lines forming where you smile or squint
The fruit isn’t left out, but still it rots:
the apple browns and sours, loses crispness
The fallen leaves lose crispness, too, from the days of rain
forever in front of us now that summer seems like an impossible memory

There is no hope for us if even the streets flood in this
city— how could I possibly not flood, too? This is how
they keep us from tasting
We have heard of the girl who drowned herself by drinking too much water
What a slow destruction, each cell absorbing and swelling
blood thinning and the heart wondering where did all this substance
come from So unprepared for consumption on this level
and so greedy

You laugh when I search the wrong side for yours
to feel it beating harder because I am near
Where is the science in that? Justin’s mom has heart cancer
which is unusual and rare and precious — did she love too strongly or
not enough? The heart has nothing to do with love but
it races and swells and grows and more often hurts

The Egyptians weigh the heart against a feather
and the feather symbolizes truth and the answer will lead you into afterlife
But we are never given an answer: should it be heavier or lighter? Surely it would be heavier for most but maybe there are small destructions:
heartbreaks and accidents and beginnings which lead absolutely though not straight
to endings and make it lighter and prepare us for that scale
The leaves become soft and are swept from the street to become earth

This was never supposed to be a poem about hearts and certainly not
about love but about the very slow way I will ruin everything I have or hold

You are beautiful; I raise my hand above my eyes to block the sun
To see you as you are and not as a shadow
To promise, only to myself, to destroy things faster,
as I must.