You must laugh

I had to make the trip home to New England, heart in my throat 

hearts are the most contradictory organ. They're so delicate. They break at the drop of a word. Yet they will pump (albeit, mayhaps, arrhythmic) for 90 years straight. From womb to tomb.

But my heart floats when I run through the front lawn, through the backyard

It warms when I see my little (big, they're all taller than me now) siblings.
And we can sit around a fire pit, the firelight washes the gray from my hair
And the pain from our faces, and for a moment I see
The wisps of children we were
For a moment my father's hair is dark again
And my mother sits next to him in the shadows

For a moment, I'm eighteen again
And I've never lived in New York
And I've never had a sexual partner
And I've never been truly sad

and I was ripe with hope.
I'm still ripe with it

But a bit more cautious (ly reckless)

For now I'm just glad all our hearts are beating in time, they say:
I love you I love you I love you