Open-Hearted

A nest of tubes,
a cradle of monitors,
someone in there
whose breastbone has been pulled open
like French Doors,
and whose heart, almost broken,
has been handled,
and laid bare,
in front of strangers.

Heart laid bare,
the weakest walls exposed
and shored up,
clogged arteries
discovered and cleared.
Heart handled,
put back
for its red roots
to settle.

The days after,
each beat wonders
will I live?
Every breath hurts.
The months after, each beat waits
for the seals to set,
for the scar,
like a mummy's mouth,
silent ceiling over the
hidden stiches,
to pale a little,
to flatten and soften its grimace
a little.
The years after,
street clothes hide it,
hide the question
will I live?
Will this heart sustain me
in the sprints of joy,
the sweats of panic?

The psalm says
Open hearted,
the good person gives to the poor.
We stand,
survivors of less visible repairs,
looking in at the nest of tubes,
following the arpeggio of beats
on the monitor.

Anne Higgins, At the Year's Elbow (Wipf & Stock Pub, 2006)