Poem

Let me see you

My heart is hurting today.

I can’t discern if it is
from pain or opening
creaky hinges that
forgot they once
belonged to beautiful
red doors.

“But it doesn’t matter”, I think,
because in the end,
it is all love:

the fear of having,
losing, deserving,
being seen,
or found
“un-”.

You don’t see
the heart
is an intractable
organ.

It was made
to break,
to be used until
well-worn.

Because those are always
the softest things.

The things that have sustained
oceans of feeling and stone.

Those are the things
one can truly love.

© Lisa Fabrega