Weekly feature by: Benjamin D. Carson
“Why isn’t my heart called a liver?” my daughter asked as I stood folding laundry.
Looking puzzled, I folded a shirt, as she patiently explained.
“Live. Er. It’s what makes you live. So shouldn’t your heart
be called that since it’s the most important part?”
In the silence that followed, I turned socks inside out,
pressed creases out of jeans, and felt in my core
the steady rhythm of love.