Prepare your heart

They told me to prepare

my heart; so, I bought

a store brand marinade

and 7 bell peppers.

I made an incision just beneath

the ribcage, reached into

my summer garden of a chest

and plucked it like an heirloom tomato.

I set it on the drain board

and covered it with cumin.

I sliced it into 14, quarter inch slices.

I put them in a bowl,

added my father’s Polish herbs

and soaked them in the marinade.

My heart is now in the fridge

beside a jug of milk

a 7 brightly colored peppers.

They told me to prepare my heart

Another, I suppose, will cook it.

Diana Nyad

She drank water no tongue
has touched, above orcas
and eyeless lobsters. She
saw sun sink in water that
was warm then cold, that
opened like a grave, that
spoke secret words of
regret and retreat.  She held
two countries in white
hands.  She pushed and pulled
her way to Florida. Her heart
is full of jellyfish, her skin
a soft legume.  When I am
old and grey and barely
awake.  I hope I have the
strength to say "The sea
waits for me."  I hope I
have the strength to be
blue and bloody, to hold
discouragment by the throat,
to drink redemption like wine.