by Brenna Smith
Excuse me.
I hate to bother you.
It’s been a long time,
and I know you’ve moved on.
It’s just that when we last touched
I left my heart in your hands
by mistake.
I’m sure you didn’t even notice.
I may not need it again,
but just in case someone else does
I guess I ought to have it.
So could I pick it up sometime?
There’s no rush—
I’ve grown rather used
to the lightness of my chest,
the void where the ache used to be.
I imagine the weight
will take some readjusting to.
In the meantime,
please take good care of it.
You may keep a piece of it,
I think.
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Brenna Smith is a writer, musician, and teacher born and raised in the Skagit Valley of Washington State and currently based out of Fort Worth, Texas. Her two proudest accomplishments are being impossible to find in hide-and-seek and memorizing Lucky's entire speech from Waiting for Godot.
Last updated April 11, 2025