I’m still finding stickers on my body 
From when the nurse pulled the EKG cables off 
at the local emergency room 

I drove there on empty 
Chest pain making it hard to breathe 
And I thought about the songwriter’s songwriter 
Who lost his heart battle 
Here in Mount Juliet… 
Or maybe Smyrna 
(there are conflicting reports) 

I’ve been thinking of your death all week 
Bursts of fresh tears burn my skin  
They didn’t ask about you at the doctor 
X-rays and cardio-rhythms tell stories 
But never give the full report 

I said I might know
Why my chest has been hurting 
But they didn’t want to listen
Or they surely would have asked 
At least one follow-up question 
Streamlined science 
Without courageous empathy 
Is disappointing 
Dismissive
And maybe deadly 

They’re being kind
Asking if I like Tennessee
Excelling at small talk
As southern folk do
Another nurse and I have the same birthday
(which isn’t statistically significant, apparently)
And they talk about the cold spell we’re having
Careful not to ask questions
About the grief I had aforementioned

They pumped stuff through my one good vein
Said it would take away the pain
But it’s not going away
I know my own heart
And at this point I know
They’re afraid of my blue-gold eyes
Swelling red, welling up
So I lied to them and said
That the pain has gone away 

Then they leave me waiting
In an ice-cold room
For nearly three hours
Popping in periodically
To offer thin sterile blankets
While I wait for test results 

They didn’t ask
They didn’t want to know
Maybe they didn’t want to see me cry
Discomfort drives the diagnosis
(or lack thereof) 

The tests say I’m healthy
The doctor says I’m fine
The nurse said I could go
That I wasn’t going to die today
I told him a bit sternly
“you don’t know that”
I almost died yesterday
Just crossing the street
He much-too-quickly agreed
ER nurse pragmatism 

They treated me kindly
They didn’t refer me to a therapist
But suggested a cardiologist
If I had any further concerns 

They brought me two warm sterile blankets
But didn’t ask me two heart-felt questions
They took my blood and urine
But not my opinion
About the heartache behind the heart pains 

They gave me a prescription I won’t fill
It won’t heal the hurt I still feel
It’s been five years to the day
It never completely goes away 

I opened the wooden box
Untied the bag of ashes
Filled a brass pendant
To wear you close

I know my own heart