She said the gall bladder stores bitterness,
imagine its stones something of heavy pain.
And the burning as if an organ were to burst.
The way a fireman looks down upon a face
all a grimace. She said, an animal is your totem;
find your guide. Damn the sea gulls' beauty
over the iced parking lot, squirrels play as Maple
leaves fall along damp winter ground. The cold
came in thick ice, the way a woman breaks into it
with a plastic blade hoping to clear a view. Blades
of grass flower like small white cacti. The word
"gall" sounds appalled with something askew
in the world. As if nobody cares for the bitter
escalation of a dark heart. She said, never use
the word "dark" or "gall," but I was dark gall,
my acid deep within. This my healer, her tale
dreaded truths, her hands felt fear that never cries.
She said the gall bladder stores bitterness. Even
after it was removed, the small incisions cut
through and through, and now the scar beneath
my heart mauve.