ECG: Poetry

By Charles Sabukewicz


Many years he lived

with a whisper in his blood,

a cloudy, troubling hiss

in the knocking in his chest.

Waiting for sleep he’d listen

to his heart repeat “I am”

with heroic imperfection,

a lisp in a scarred valve.

Now he’s apprehensive

of fault lines on a graph,

an instrument recording

the measure he has left

of electrical potential,

voltaic properties,

necessary signals

for a surgeon to proceed

by careful intervention

to calm such dissonance

and stop the volume lost

with every lightning flash.