The scars on my heart itch like
summer sweat drying down my back or my scalp at the mention of piojos.
I remember that my scar checkered heart
has seen emotional wars
that cannot be qualified in wins or loss
but only broken homes and
broken trust and broken safety.
Yet my heart still beats and the texture of these scars soften and flatten
until they feel like stretch marks.
s t r e t c h
Limitations stretched into unreal curves and fishing line thin
and winnowed bridges connecting heartbreak to heart/break to heart
And I remember the hammer worn and dented tin corazon milagros that I
grew up with, marred forgotten metal beaten thin and beautiful.
Some things born from under pressure are the most resilient of all.