Gris-Gris, an online journal of literature, culture & the arts

The Heart

by John Krumberger

But maybe the heart
does not want to be understood,
too busy stumbling through its hours
to accept the humility
of an old woman
wrestled from a wheelchair
and deposited in a church pew
by an attendant
who has wandered somewhere else.

Just she and I now
swimming this river of silence
–St Janez, church of my grandmother
before she left for America–
this woman perhaps an ancient distant aunt,
moving her mouth without sound;
her praying so much like simple breathing,
submitting to what is given
like the leaves outside falling or about to fall.


Ljubljana, Slovenia