The Heart Was Not Made to Keep Us Safe

Michael Indemaio
2026

i

There is safety in silence,
but every heart has a beat.

I could start at the beginning but that wouldn’t make sense yet. If time and meaning were aligned there wouldn’t be poetry or growth or those moments where you look in someone’s eyes and see your future. I met my wife in passing and pretended I didn’t notice. Spring day, Converse sneakers, overcast.

There was a death in the family a few years earlier, tore me apart. Not just why this and why now but why does it have to be this way and is life even worth the pain. It is, but I’ll leave it there. You won’t believe it until you see it.

A bird never wonders why it has wings,
never contemplates
staying on the ground.

It’s madness to hide yourself from your own life. I used to overflow.
Had to grow,
had to become a bigger vessel
not a smaller flood.

Now I can decide
what the overflow becomes.

Imagine the hell of eternal small talk
imagine art without intention
imagine love locked up in chains.

It’s a heartbeat or death.

I’m not scared of who I am;
not scared of how the truth sounds.

Loving and loud.

ii

I’ve been going home since birth.

Always in motion and self-determined,
I never felt pulled.
I can’t imagine what it means to be fulfilled.

I was maybe 3. I had already seen adult-sized dysfunction, rage — I knew about violence and fury and danger. The room was full of the darkest darkness I’d ever seen, but I wasn’t afraid of the dark. I was afraid of not knowing, the unlimited possibilities, indecipherable time.

Separation.
I hope they’re okay.

That was my second memory, the first was much worse.
My walls went up.

A relative’s car,
a therapist’s office,
a classroom desk—
I wouldn’t talk.
I wouldn’t confess.

Silence wasn’t a goal it was control.

I was observant, discerning,
cautious, and imaginative.
I wrote stories, told jokes
laughed louder than anyone expected.

My mom was miraculous but what could I say? How was school?

There was a knife fight on the bus
gun in a locker
gun on the bus
rocks in the snowballs
my teacher was crying
I was thrown down the stairs
I couldn’t breathe
          I had no air.

It was fine.

I don’t know if there’s such a thing as a wrong lesson.
I didn’t lash out for a long time
and mostly I hurt only myself.
I took control, that’s for sure.

Broken heart,
broken heart,
broken heart—
                 doesn’t matter.

The room kept getting darker.

Separation.
                 Please be okay.

I have to admit I thought of my father
all the time,
although I didn’t always know it.
Separation.

I know this now
but part of me still doesn’t.

When my wife says she’s fine
I imagine knife fights and pain

impenetrable darkness,
blood on the stairs.

iii

The heart was not made to keep us safe.

I didn’t realize it was happening
but suddenly I was center stage,
the reassuring lighting
lighting my defeat of the dark.

Art is a reason to speak.
An overflowing heart
full of dreams and desires,
I wanted to be loved for the truth.

Of course if you don’t value your life
you have nothing to lose.

Heartache proved a helpful hurt.
Bloody-knuckle poetry
little leaps of faith
(head in the clouds
            heart out in space)

everything was awful in the good old days.

I loved everyone though, let’s get that clear.
I know it didn’t always show.

I’d have to walk away,
sit in silence,
alone with the first word.
Like the air already has its temperature
the word is just there
the first immutable note of a song
not yet composed

stay stay stay, the left hand pulses
refusing to resolve where the measure ends.
The right walks stairs mostly then
seventh third, sixth it leaps
but it lands
                        beautiful.

Stay home, stay safe, stay beautiful
the harmony widens…
wait for me, dream of me
stay for me
                     (gentle cadence)
I don’t know when I’ll know you
I don’t know who you are
                 but I know you

always (sustained)
(harmonized) my always

time will align us when the timing is right
stay, stay, stay

both hands lower saying
I will find you in the dark

a certain, open fifth;
                     stay,
I will meet you there.


I had to talk to the whole world
in case she was listening.

iv

Hi Honey,
I’m sorry to write this note to you
inside a poem to the world,
I have to make sure you both
hear me.
                    I love you.

Did you know you make a fake smile
sometimes in photos
or when someone thinks
they’re funny,

but when you’re trying not to laugh
because you know too much
and your face stays still but turns up,
that’s when you look most
like yourself,
that’s when you’re at your most beautiful.

You have to understand
I’ve always known you but couldn’t imagine
the truth of you,
the reality.

I’m not scared to admit I need you.

Sometimes I think that maybe I’ve died.
Everything having happened
climactic and loved;
the drums announce the breathless moment.

You were the bride and I was the ocean.
You were forever and I couldn’t breathe.

I wanted to tell you something.
It won’t make sense unless
you understand everything
                       (you might).

Our son,
I didn’t know how much I didn’t understand
until he made sense of it.

I didn’t know how much I used to think of my father, or that my emotions today could be influenced by the truth of tomorrow. I didn’t know that I would choose every past pain to make sure he would be exactly the same. I didn’t know how inadequate we can be, and still be exactly what someone else needs.

And I wasn’t afraid to die until I was afraid to have him feel loss.

I hope my mom understands I understand.
I hope my dad knows
I still believe God has a plan.

I hope our son never lets go of your hand.


Do me a favor
leave a light on in your heart.

I’ll be finding my way
through a new kind of dark.

              I love you.

v

The usual key in the usual lock, but something was already wrong. Maybe the silence was deeper than normal, but I think emptiness is something you can feel.
I took off my work shoes, the floorboards creaking, and my shoes were alone in the hall.
I worked all day trying to keep the apartment but an empty apartment is worthless.

Separation.
Please be okay.

I am stubborn in love. I refuse to know my limits. But I forget, my family still has to live within them. The apartment was empty. The lights were off. An old flood, overflowing. Unlimited possibility; indecipherable time. Old thoughts, old fears, and one new one, articulated like a blade: I don’t want my son to ever feel what I carry around.
I sat in it. Realization making me ill.
I only ever asked what it would take and I only ever thought the answer was more
but love just wants to know where you are.

I looked around, my eyes adjusting.
I could see now
how nothing was there, faint
         cluttered nothing.

Breathing.

I should turn on a light
before I text my wife,
compose myself.

I wanted to say
I know I can’t shield your heart
by hiding mine
but instead I said hey
where are you guys?

It was late, but not too late,

               I hit a wall
               and hit the bed.

I put the phone beneath my pillow
and closed my eyes.

I could feel tomorrow forming already
and it wasn’t up to me.

vi

Before he was born the world shut down.
I suspect that means something.

I was writing less, speaking more,
walking like the beginning of time.
Everything was suddenly quiet

and the blue jays moved into our skies.
Our trees, our leaves, our lives.

I mean it doesn’t mean anything by itself
but it means something together.
Nothing means anything
outside of relationship.

I take my family into the gallery. It doesn’t exist yet but I know where it is. What do you see? We stare at empty walls and their artwork. Music notes like colored glass assemble themselves into timeless mosaics. Hold my hand before we explore magic lands.
Our shoes hit the marble like the hammers hit their strings
and our laughter fills the air like it was meant to be.

I’m not scared of the world
I’ve been blessed in.

vii

Alone on the couch listening to the television and watching my phone
         when the lock clicks

I hear him before I see him
       he whispers loudly,

I’m going to surprise Daddy

       his shoes thud down
       and his voice rings out
charging into the living room
      and leaping into my arms

my wife’s face turns upward
      not smiling as hard as she can
            that’s her

laughter kills the silence
fills the space

and the apartment spins around us.

I saw the blue jay three times. First, as a child eating breakfast, the bird outside the window, astounding. Then again twenty years later, in the rain, curious. And after the world shut down, I saw it forever after—first one, then two, then three, and eventually all of them. Present, together. That’s what love is like: breathing.

The heart keeps beating,
announcing itself,
and laughter keeps on singing.

I am 3 years old and the lights come on
I am laughing and I don’t know why,
I’m a child running home
I’m a man running scared
I’m a broken heart, shattered glass
scattered along time

I’m everywhere

as the apartment fills with laughter
and the walls fall down

the laughter returns to us
from farther away

a jagged heart hangs in the gallery
and he’s still laughing
holding her hand

what is it?

Good question.
What do you think it means?

I think it means God
and I think it means us

I think you’re right, bud.

One moment of eternity
actually us

not scared of pain
not scared of love.

Now, we’ll always be what we’ve always been
laughing in the living room forever:

the old pipes clanking,
the afternoon sun
shining through the blinds,

everything uncontrollable
and beautiful.

We’re home.