Meg Waghorn (Rangi Ruru Girls' School, Christchurch)

The Little Heart

Cut away your pale skin with a pen.
Old silk or lace, folded carefully
In a wide box, with tissue.

False heart,
Bare in its cage of little ribs.
Wet in your cold hand, roll it in ink and watch
The way it rubberstamps itself across the page.

The little heart is tired now
Smudged black, small in your hand.
Warm red fish.

Slot it back in place
Like the jigsaw piece of you it is.

Safely inside your warm self
The little heart throbs quiet.

Your veins run black with ink.