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Apices

The doctoring seek them out, soft staccato of
contact, drumming of touch,
in every bed, stripped of the sheet,
thrown under light: fifth intercostal space;
mid-clavicular line.
In everyone there is a uniform site
isolating the apex of the heart, and its beat.
Normality-affirming tap, transmitted
through the chest and trap of ribs,
via the skin, upon the fingers.

Other apices lie deeper within,
somewhere unguarded by the scaffold of bone,
beyond the reach of manipulation – no less fundamental,
only long unobserved, displaced over time.
Misplaced. Telling us that we are more
than normal. Reminded, we arise
to the shock of them, surface to a sudden fear
of having strayed –
press hand to breast, reassured by
the evidence of life underneath;
subside. Some dreams are best undisplayed.
Some dreams have teeth.

-Daphne LS Tan

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