The heart is an organ, 

        only weighing about a pound,

about the size of a fist. 

        Encapsulated in a cage 

of 24 ribs, it is protected

        by their starchy bones. 

The right side takes in blood 

        from veins and pushes it to the lungs. 

The lungs heave their 

        oxygenated breath 

into the blood and send it 

        back to the left side, 

which sends the blood 

        throughout the rest of the body. 

Beating 100,000 times a day 

        on average, the heart 

is constantly pulsing 

        and pulsing 

and pulsing.  

A wide-eyed five-year-old 

        thinks hearts are shaped 

like tulip petals and are the color 

        of sweet strawberries. 

75-year-old Grandpa Ralph 

        wishes they were.  

His heart is shaped

        like a mangled sack of jelly 

and is the color of stiff flesh.  

        Hooked up to wires, his frail,

post-surgery body lies 

        next to an unsigned DNR.

His lips were melancholy-blue, 

        his cheeks, milky-white.

The intake of blood

        by the right side of the heart 

has slowed; the pumping-out 

        by the left has nearly stopped. 

I drew a heart on a “Get well soon” card 

        that never left my nightstand.

To this day, the heart I drew

        is still the same warm pink

like the day I drew it.