The echo is more beautiful
than I anticipated: my heart
moving to its own rhythm,
surrounded by black & white
film grain. I imagine a diver
with her underwater camera,
eyes wide under a mask.
The muffled sounds of breath
& water pressure. Referencing
the images, the tech explains
my condition to me incorrectly.
He’s my age though & so earnest
that I nod along politely,
marvelling at the bioluminescence
on his screen: flashes of red
& green & blue across my
grey heart. Signs of light
at the bottom of the ocean.
My rate steadies, rises, steadies.
He tells me Breathe in, hold it,
release. The machine makes
a noise like a whale surfacing.
He says That’s the sound of your
blood. In the end, the test isn’t
enlightening in the way they’d
hoped. I need to come back
in two weeks for a bubble study.
I make the right noises of
approval & disappointment
& obligation but can I be honest
with you? I just learned my heart
is a creature of the deep. I am
drifting two miles down, in awe
of the radiance.
