the heart is a muscle
i’ve been not quite fainting. i get dizzy and drop to the floor. might be broken heart syndrome. something i already know. my shattered heart still cuts me, with shards of memories, confetti scraps of your baby pictures like razors slicing me.
jude told me, “the heart is a muscle, and yours is working hard.” oh son, my heart’s job was to hold you, but you left. you broke my heart.
my heart is a muscle with chambers where i keep my sacred things: your heart, your mind, your kids, your life, even the way you sang.
the left ventricle falters. my blood a movie monster blob. it oozes through my body, sinking me to the ground. my poor heart laboring, yet hardly working at all.