the heart is a muscle

by amy sharp


I saw a fight on the street yesterday. A grocery parking lot actually. Everyone was carrying bags of food to our cold cars and no one stopped and cared. I sat in my truck and watched the human condition weigh down the whole pavement. She was angry and that is more dangerous than a sad woman. Her voice was a slap. He raised his hands to his hair and looked wild. And the wind was slicing through them and I wondered so badly what had happened. Her hat flew off and she was crying and he picked it up and put it on her head like forgiveness. I could tell from behind my windshield that he touched her so softly and her whole body looked different. She looked like love. I drove home and the radio pushed out a perfect soundtrack. Old music. I cried at a stoplight and made eye contact with a jogger. I mouthed what's the matter with me and sped away.