My heart is filled with a constellation

dancing and soaring through the dark

but stars burn brightest at their death

and from flaming blasts blossom new scars

that I cannot, will not ever regret 

Spanish roses braided in dark hair

a crimson crest and waterfall

placed by fingers warm and skilled

as Mama hums my heart, be still

mi corazon, mi madre, la luna

Buttercups blushed across the lawn

that Spring before so much went wrong

slender fingers intertwined, lifelong sisters

until our star turned supernova

stone crumbled to ash in white-knuckled grasp

Lavender lilies in trembling hands

and silver tie to match sparkling dress

for our night of dance in feigned Paris

too young and abashed to last long

mi corazon, mi dulce, el primero

Sweet peas spritzed across my wrist

a gift for mi bellita, no longer la niña

but a woman growing still

Abuelo did not see the wildflowers

already in my veins

Our many kisses watched by white asters

from clear vases on linoleum counters

that couldn’t taste the chamomile and honey

on our tongues as fingers tangled in soft hair

mi corazon, mi amor, el sol

I feel their hands still stroke my head

at night before I rest in bed

but blankets can’t replace their arms

and blue blooms cannot heal our scars

small periwinkle peonies on white cotton

When I survey my many stars 

half have fallen or gone dark

Mi madre glimmers not too far

Mi hermana fled to brighter skies

Mi primero flew to another’s galaxy

Mi abuelo has begun to dim

Mi amor faded from the night

but I gather those fragments of my heart

blackened yet smooth from the inferno 

and plant them in fields of yellow daffodils