Hearth – Harpy Hybrid Review

My heart is a tether, a tithe, an airport steadily churning arrivals and departures through chaotic gates and via cavernous ventricles, beating to the tired ticking of blood sent out into the international adventure that is my form.

My heart falls asleep each night beneath a map of the world, dreaming of borders blurred, the crisp lines of continents folding safely into the sea, and wondering, “Where is the hearth of my belonging?”

My heart wakes to whole grains and legumes, starves itself of butter to avoid the sterile beep and bright lights that come with disaster. The men in my family have a habit of dropping dead from heartbreak so my heart is always sure to paint a smile.

“My heart belongs to the world’s slowest runner,” I joke with the world’s most boring cardiologist who harrumphs and writes prescriptions to keep death at bay. But it’s true, together my heart and I trace the neighborhood on foot, jogging through the lives of others and around the murderous vehicles of drivers on their phones, and my heart gasps with me, pulling in the air and the airport speeds up with planes unfilling and refilling and taking off again.

My heart shivers beneath the deluge as my ex regales me with complaints about new lovers and the delirium of his fresh desires, none of which involve me. I reason with my heart that this is the price of staying connected, that sometimes the person shifts but the tether remains the same.

My heart is chilled with the realization that I’ve stayed put in a strange place for too long and for the wrong reason – for the hopeless hope that one day my heart might once again be seen as an option by a man who changed long ago. In my heart long lines stretch through echoing terminals, all flights delayed, snow gathering on slick tarmac.

My heart weeps on the phone with my mom.
“I identify as the mother of female children!” she rages, and my heart watches her voice as it shoots from a small Pacific island up through the atmosphere to a satellite, and back down over the world’s largest ocean and the world’s most annoying country, to pour as stinging honey into my ear in Tucson, Arizona. I blink sadly, gazing at my bearded reflection on the darkened screen of my TV.

I hold my heart out to my mother, warm and gamey and dripping, but to her, it’s buried under a gravestone marked, Beloved Daughter.
“If I don’t belong to you,” begs my heart, “then where do I go?”

And yet my heart recalls its origins, my father’s hands upon my mother’s pregnant belly. “I sense you will have a very strong-willed son,” the midwife predicts, and her warm laugh morphs in the light to become my ex’s as my heart remembers blossoming in his arms – tethers and tithes and tines sent askance and all-where. My heart knows how to love, even if that love has been misplaced.

When I was a child, I ran with abandon through the streets – the world’s fastest runner! And my heart beat in harmony with my breath, a tune we shared as feet hit the pavement and the cycle of the schedule of arrivals and departures was just beginning.

Leo rules the heart and my heart is the sun, and the world orbits my heart with all its siblings and all their moons. My heart is a thoroughfare, and all the people, with all their plans are hustling to their destinations, passports stamped and possibilities summoning or family calling them home.

I hold my heart close now, closer than ever before. My heart gazes up at me as we crouch on the edge of the tarmac, the present moment wide before us.
“You belong with me,” I murmur, as I step towards the plane, off to find the hearth of our belonging.

George Joseph Brown

Three Questions for George Joseph Brown

What inspired your choice of genre and/or form for "Hearth"?

"Hearth" is a poem that emerged from me almost fully formed. It had a distinct flow to it that I noticed as I was writing it, trying desperately to keep up with the words as they poured onto the page. I did end up making minor edits to the piece, and I decided to call it a prose-poem, though I don't know if it strictly meets the parameters of that genre. If I had to define its form, I would say that "Hearth" has the shape of a helix. Themes are revisited throughout the piece, but echo differently from each go around on its spiral staircase.

What was your creative process for the piece?

I wrote "Hearth" as a homework assignment for a writing class. We'd each chosen a poem to study, and I chose "Satyr's Flute" by Shangyang Fang. That poem uses the metaphor of a goat's penis which assists the narrator with acknowledging their sexuality. At the time, I had been dealing with cardiac issues, and I found that my own heart could become a metaphor through which to channel a whole host of old grievances. "Hearth" was well received by my classmates and teacher, but they suggested that I tuck the piece away for a time, and revisit it later to see if it was something I might want to submit for publication. I left it untouched for a year, and when I returned it, I felt ready to put it out into the world.

What is the significance of the piece to you?

"Hearth" is a celebration of loss. It's about the triumph of not belonging, and a return to oneself after rejection. It's for my fellow lonely freaks who find themselves on the verge of a nervous breakthrough. When your heart breaks, let it break wide open.

George Joseph Brown (he/they) is a queer and trans writer and musician based in Tucson, Arizona. He plays music under the moniker "Joseph Gently," and his creative process is often interrupted by a large, boisterous cat named Tank.