This poem is dedicated to my mother. Thank you vieja!
The hours lean heavy, laid like bricks with no mortar, a survival gripped together by determination. You are half truth, half courage, escape before they bring the cracks to the surface, before it shows, before the weight. It’s not the clapping that stirs you, not the glow of some imagined end, but the quiet conviction to bear it all, to ensure no one else has to. Tell me how it feels, to bear the world’s muck upon your back, to keep breath gentle, even as it scorches, to give without taking, and call it living.
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