Emotion does not lie in the heart
no matter what the ancients say.
I was full of emotion.
Empathy, purpose, love, solidarity
with my brothers in arms.
A bleeding heart liberal, some would say.
My heart beat strongly, unceasingly
and I felt that keening in my breast
at love gained and lost,
at the birth of my child,
at the loss of my father,
and then my mother.
How can a feeling so strong,
so localized in my frame,
be other than it feels?
I guess fear lies in the anus, then,
and regret in the stomach.
But when my brain came up sharp
against my skull, in that inattentive
moment in my car,
and swelled and died inside,
my heart was left, still strong, still beating.
I could only wish that some part of me
still lived there.
They gave my heart to someone else,
someone whose heart could not sustain him
anymore.
My wish was to give life in my death
if death, premature, was my fate.
I dreamed of helping a fellow traveler,
of being a lifeline when hope seemed lost.
I signed the forms, and hoped for the best.
Then they gave my heart to Cheney.