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The Heart-Eater

Updated: Apr 4, 2020

Written by Albertine Clarke

Had I known that he was a heart-eater,

I would not be lying upon this table

Covered in damp towels, to soak up the blood.

He is cracking open my ribs

With a pair of hedge-cutters.

Liquid bubbles up from my chest cavity

And runs down over my arms

Warm and wet and red,

The towels bloomed with red flowers.

He had promised to minimise

The damage, but of course,

A degree of mutilation is unavoidable.

The soft, red object in his plastic-gloved

Hands is familiar and unfamiliar.

He puts it in a bag filled with ice.

He has a book of human anatomy,

The organs marked with red

Beneath the monochrome bones.

The corners are stained and dog-eared.

I put my finger over the place

Where a red mark indicates the heart.

Illustration by Phoebe Callaghan

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