An Epistemology of Your Heart

What does my touch feel
like to you? Is it

when you were eight
            and freckled

on a warm summer evening
chasing fireflies with a Mason jar

in your hand, your mother
calling for you

the suburban backyards

of Pennsylvania and,

you float homeward
in gossamer linen?

When I speak what do you hear?
A renaissance

grumbled in
soundless heartbeats? A small scissor

of complaint? Flat steps?
                        Is my scent

something you could identify
in a bottle at Kohl’s

and say: “This is him,
my husband”? Do I ever

taste like the cebolla pizza
we split every Tuesday

at La Fornace, familiar now
and deeply satisfying? Like an

old shoe in your mouth,
cheese and oregano

on the tongue. Is it
kind of like that? When you

look for me in a crowd
            from behind

is it my gray cowlick
you first recognize? Are you

come home
in that moment?

M F Drummy is the author of numerous academic articles and essays, and a monograph on religion and ecology (Being and Earth). His poetry has appeared in Mayfly, Frogpond, and The Mainichi. After 40 years of laboring away on a soul-crushing zombie hamster wheel, he and his wife currently split their time between the Colorado Rockies and the Ecuadorian Andes.

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