So, we were kind.

While we had the time,

we focused on cleaning the earth—

broken glass, plastic with rims once touched

by the mouths of the dead.

We took great care in pretending

nothing had happened.

The heart is muscle.

As long as it beats, you are alive.

It contracts, it pushes, it moves blood

through the body, even if broken.

The brain fires signals—

tells the heart to keep its pace,

tells the hands to keep moving,

tells the body to survive.

Under the sun, everything is filthy.

But we were kind.

So we told each other we were clean,

pressed our palms to our chests,

felt the steady thump,

the surge of blood,

the pressure behind ribs.

The heart pulsed,

sang,

glowed red—

something real,

something unstoppable.