Carson McCullers’ heart
Interviewer says, “Can I call you Carson?”
McCullers says,“Only if you came by car son.”
Interviewer says, “Tell me about your heart.”
McCullers says, “Takes a lotta nerve for you to start with that start.
My heart?, well, depends on which part
And on what I’ve forgot or not.”
“It’s not for me to say.
Are things better that way?
You might know better than me.
Maybe I’m too close to see.”
Interviewer says, “Is it lonely and is it a hunter?
Is it a daughter and is it a mother?”
McCullers says, “Might depend on the time of day.
Times it just seems to stray.
Times it’s like a big hipped drum,
Times a gentle hum.
Times I would rock its cradle
But I can only do what I’m able.
Times my hand goes straight to my chest
To tear my heart out, clear out of my breast.”
McCullers silently reflects
“Some things from their start
You end up lonely with a murdered heart.
Some things from their start
You end up lonely with murder in your heart.
Murdered and murder equals one.
Not all addition is the sum.”
McCullers watches as the interviewer drives off in a Jaguar XK 120 into a blood red sun
And thinks, “Boy, that’s some car son.”
Meanwhile from afar
In that Jaguar XK 120 car
The interviewer is thinking of his life’s part.
Wishing it is he
That will forever be
Rocking the cradle of Carson’s heart.
Rocking the cradle, big red heart.
Carson McCullers’ big red heart.