No, I didn’t eat enough protein today---
the eggs sat shy in their carton,
the chicken stayed frozen in its silver coat.
My body, I know, is a frugal accountant,
noting each deficit with a quiet reproach.
But I did think of you
with enough intensity
to generate new muscle tissue
in my heart.
I picture the fibers braiding themselves in the dark,
a quiet cardiac lace being knitted
from the sheer tensile patience
of missing your face.
The ventricles, learning to flex
around the shape of your name,
a new kind of hypertrophy,
a sweet, sustainable strain.
Forget the quinoa, the measured scoop of powder,
the careful arithmetic of repair.
Today, my heart got stronger
by the sheer weight of your ghost
sitting gently in its chair.
So if you feel a deeper thump against my ribs tonight,
don’t be alarmed.
It’s just the fresh, involuntary muscle
I grew from the warm-up sets
of thinking of you.