perla

There is a pearl that I love. I do not possess it, but sometimes I am allowed to hold it in my hands. I move my hands and it rolls around in my cupped palms. The colors shift in the sunlight. I cherish it.

I do not possess it, but sometimes she lets me hold it. Although she takes her hands off it, her eyes remain locked onto the treasure. The pearl came from the center of her heart. Some grain of sand, some shard of bone got stuck in there the last time her heart was broken open. This produced a round, shiny, translucent pearl.

While she hides it from her boys and mothers and casual acquaintances, she shows it to me. Little girls are born with hearts of flesh, but the first heartbreak isn’t far away from birth – in fact, sometimes little girls get their pearls from their mothers first.

We show each other our pearls
when we exchange names.

I do not possess it,
but some times she has
let me hold her pearl.
The love shifts in the
sunlight, I cherish it.

You are safe, baby girl.
I always have room for you.
Don’t bother calling,
just knock on my door
You are a very brave girl.

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