Don’t Have Carrots

By Nathalie Vachon

i saw the moon in you
i saw the sea in your heart
the pounding the night you woke me up at 2am or was it 3 to say your heart hurt
you didn’t want to alarm me so at first you said it was your stomach
then told me it was your heart
the pounding in your chest, an ogre’s heart inside a baby’s body
too big for your ribs, you felt it pressing and pounding
a sea, asia, africa, celtic sea salt of sea dreams under the covers
under the roof of OUR house
you ache and fear that i will be panicked by the news
i turn on the light
we drive in hap-hazard clothes, mismatched socks and coats
to emergency
the sea in me rising like a heron
like a call
like a loon on Friday
across my own lunatic city of traffic and rage

we wait hours for tests
and i have walked a hundred days of possible outcomes
you, knowing my fear, watch my tears
a day without you, i can’t imagine
no gardens, no piano on a rainy Sunday
no sparkly eyes, leftover pie
no notes in the morning and no warm stones in the fire
no Mexican sombreros and pesos in the hands I love

the doctor says pericarditis
i blurt out ‘don’t have carrots!’
and finally we laugh
don’t have carrots, don’t have dreams without me,
languid motorcycles in other lives
don’t have the sea in your heart and a hard beating beat of beaded nothing…
without me

One comment


  • I just re-read this piece. It is so beautiful. What a testament to your love.
    I adore the last line,
    don’t have the sea in your heart and a hard beating beat of beaded nothing…
    without me.

    I LOVE that.

    – Sarah (newest member to the writing workshop)

    May 20, 2011

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