“…In their solitude and beauty,
flowers say, ‘I have sacrificed myself for you.'”
~ Eugene Gloria
Many hearts are buried
in every field: flower
hearts, thorn hearts,
bone hearts, knuckle
and finger hearts;
veins of spittle
and scum and bottle
shards, bits of barbed
wire looped
at intervals
like ribbons— hearts
of the dead or
disappeared who gave
their lives to hope
and work, who even now
write letters legible
through hardened
ground—
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.