precious cargo

precious cargo

our hearts—
not the complex
meaty thing
but capacity—
how the fox
forgoes food so
her kits are fed
even as skin
sculpts her ribs

how the youngster
slips piggy-bank
his whole savings—
in the blind man’s
mug or a worn-weary
woman pulls her
sister in close

we can shine
our heart light
and set
the world ablaze—
is this duty or gift?
either way,
meant to be

2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.

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