The Liberty of the Heart Old timey blues songs sizzling in the morning on Mississippi River radio remind me of that long walk. The one where I could not stand still for the fear of sinking. My girlish heart chewed, flattened; I was worn. “To move is to progress,” And so, I fled away from my bed and down to the old pizza parlor. Greeted by a lady with a misty past and mom jeans, commiserating with my silence. She chopped green pepper. Like out of a movie she walked on over, leaned on the counter, called me honey, asked me if I wanted a Coke at 7am. Between Coke burps and hic-cups we spoke about betrayal, about untying knots, and the process of unloving. Unraveled and swollen, a weary walk and back down Main Street, my lesson learned about defending the liberty of a midwestern heart. Mississippi bluesey radio, sings to me about letting go, melts the dissapointment when the sun comes up.