Soldier Heart
       

When you lose your heart, its impossible

drum continues filling ventricles,

a hundred thousand times a day,

two thousand gallons of blue type A

siphon in and out of its four-

chambered machine, threading through more

than sixty thousand miles of veins,

from lung to tissue, tongue to brain.

You stand—despite that you can't stand—

despite that your unwilling hand

touches the casket's closed lid—this fist

bumps, bumps like victory in your chest.

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Copyright © 2020 Beth Gylys All rights reserved
from 32 Poems
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission