I chose this picture of an ECG. I was going to write all kinds of clever about the difference between the heart as a physical organ and the heart as the seat of love but in the end, a simple story came out and begged to be told.
The red-headed nurse said,
“It’s just a routine test, don’t worry,”
The soft brogue of her tongue
Brushed my ears pleasantly.
And one by one the wee thin wires
Began to gossip their news to the twitching pen.
“Can it tell what’s in a man’s heart, this machine of yours?”
I said, “Can it tell if a man’s in love?”
She aimed her patient freckled smile at me,
Making out like she’d never heard such wit,
Even though she must have done a thousand times before.
And I think at that point, that very second,
Even though the patiently scrolling paper bears no mark of it.
Even though the gossiping wires neglected to mention it.
Even though I didn’t yet know it myself.
At that moment, amid the mystery of PQRS,
Sinus rhythm, bundle of His, and all the rest.
At that moment I loved her.