my heart feels like a clementine beating, 
all that dimpled skin sheltering the tender 
juice inside. I imagine the liquid bursting 
out someday like a geyser–too much
pressure built up. the sound so loud 

it bursts through my eardrums and I can feel
it deep within me. then I am in Yellowstone, 
dreaming of my ancestors, getting high, hearing 
the colors around me sway with the trees.

my heart is in harmony here besides a few 
flickering geyser thoughts. I tell myself 
get it together. why would you not stay
like this forever? one with the deer, one
with the leaves. one with the blah blah blah.

don’t you see that this is what it means to be
more than a body? you are spiritual in human.
all that clementine weight really takes a toll 
on you, huh? that’s alright, just don’t let it 

become a geyser. someday you’ll appreciate 
this, the contemplating and not knowing, 
the ancestors and anxieties with their obsessions
and protections. and one day all this juice 
talk won’t matter. it’ll be like it never did.

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prompt

Write a poem centered in a location or place that you’ve never been before. Maybe that’s a famous landmark or city, maybe that’s a non-physical place, another dimension or realm or state of being. Somewhere you can research or imagine but have yet to visit. Think about what your speaker could do there, and brainstorm lots of options. Like the speaker of “clementine heart,” is your speaker getting high and contemplating? Or are they starting a fight, meeting a friend, noticing the natural world, etc. The possibilities are endless.

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Amanda Conover is a writer based in Raleigh, NC who frequently discusses existentialism and spirituality. She’s the poetry editor for Carolina Muse Literary and Arts Magazine and is an MFA student at Arcadia University. Her poetry has appeared in places such as the lickety~split, Miracle Monacle, and the Atlanta Review.