I Have Lots of Hearts

by Adam Scheffler

I have lots of hearts, it’s grisly.
I leave them bloody, soaking the pillow.
I keep them in a drawer where they turn gray.

It’s a bother having so many.
Some are stretched as waterskins, snakeskins.
Some glitter like precious stones and are cold.

But my hearts are nonbiodegradable:
They are made of kevlar and teflon.
They glow in the dark, but don’t light my way.
They whisper bad advice to me like bridesmaids,

telling me to gift each one away.
‘Take this, it’s all of me,’ I lie, already a new heart
growing inside me like a dark pearl
or shadow of a disease on an ultrasound.