Where would I hide my heart, 

If I had one?

I could put it in the cupboard, 

But the grain moths would find it, 

And lay their eggs in it.

I could put it on the counter, 

But the fruit flies 

Would eat their fill.

It would rot in the fridge for certain – 

Behind the sugarfree Greek yogurt

Whose expiration date passed

Along with all of January’s good intentions.

One day, it would be discovered

By a shocked 

(Fine, an exceedingly

Unsurprised)

Housekeeper –

Or else it might be found

Far later,

By an archaeologist, 

Some thousand years hence,

Who would give it a name for its pains, 

And keep it

In a case of glass,

And show it, infrequently, 

At conferences. 

(Graduate students would submit 

Abstracts

On my heart. 

They would fill their resumes

With incorrect APA citations

Of their poster presentations

On my heart.)

By then, my heart will be 

Too delicate for travel.

It will need to be kept

In some dim back room 

of the Weltmuseum Wien,

And only ever viewed under

Vantablack’s Blackety Black light. 

(For special fundraising days,

They will, of course, display my heart 

Next to Montezuma’s crown

And the Pompeiian sourdough starter. 

Ill-funded postdoctoral scholars 

Will attend mandatory trainings

On the care and feeding of my heart.)

In the meantime,

I will put my heart,

(Such as it is,)

In the freezer, 

With the other meat.

There, it might

Safely keep –

Barring unexpected 

Power outages,

Or, of course – 

The summer heat.