I am watching my heart,
as the nurse practitioner moves
her wand with its warm oil
in tiny increments across sternum, ribs,
for small shifts in perspective.
The ultrasound shows beating and flow
of the chambers and the valves,
in blacks, grays and silvers,
and it is beautiful,
and an echo is in my life,
as I consider how small shifts
help me watch
the flow of my heart.
Today there were angry people —
a stranger yelling at a store clerk,
and an old friend
in delicious critique of anyone successful.
Before I speak I move the wand
and realize my life
is so much happier, so rich,
all the disappointments and sorrows
as open as winter blooms,
and my matching anger for anger
seems so unnecessary
washed in my gratefulness.
The deep arrhythmia of loss
pumping through the holiday this year,
I see for the beating of heart it is —
a valve opening for the flow
of memory of wonderful years shared.
Edie (says her nametag) cleans me up
and tells me the cardiologist
will share all the findings with me.
For this day I know enough,
And I wish Edie a good Thanksgiving.