Noun [man-swi-tood, -tyood]: mildness; gentleness
Is it because he was a man
that I found this his most
attractive quality—
his mildness, his gentleness,
his great heart, which,
by the time it stopped,
had grown three times
its normal size thanks to
malformed valves?
What if those leaky
flaps that never fully
closed and jacked up
his heart muscle like
an iron-pumping
bodybuilder
were what made him
such a gentle man
with such capacity
for love, the kind
that echoes around me
to this day, that
somehow powers
the beat of my own
imperfect heart?
(for Clifford Polland, 1952–2001,
on the 39th anniversary of our wedding)

His heart still beats with yours. Love doesn’t die.
Two very poetic lines, Mr. Tracy. So very true. You sure you’re not a poet?
One of the sweetest poems you’ve shared. Thanks.
Thanks so much for reading them, Gloria. I so appreciate your comment!