Masterpiece
She is the mural painted on barrio walls,
stories in her curves, rhythm in her calls.
Colors of abuela, the fire of the street,
a masterpiece rising where cultures meet.
But art needs a frame — firm hands, steady eyes,
men who don’t compete but safeguard the prize.
A frame holds the story, keeps memory tight,
protects from the weather, the dust, and the night.
Alone she’s the art, brilliance untamed—
but her power shines louder ’cause he is the frame.
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