for a moment of joy or moments no one pays for, i give myself a ‘jornal’. this makes me rich. try it.

The encrusted heart

The heart curls

on its own in pain

turns into a suckling,

milking on its hurts.


It darkens

in the day—what

sun could pierce

the mirror of grief?


Ghosts haunt

eyes taunting

pain, reliving loss,

birthing fresh hurts.


In the night the heart

glistens with its wounds

lapping tears–those

globules of pain.


Around the heart

in vigil, slabs of light

await for a sign to

splinter into a million


points, to pierce

the heart of the mirror,

 to melt encrustations of

its own wounds.


The heart resists

locked in eyes on

the mirror of its

making, losing


the light each day

to nest its own rebirth.


Copyright © 2009 by Alegria Imperial/Posted  in

For this poem, I wrote a check of $700 for my ‘jornal’. What would you give me?

February 19, 2009 - Posted by | poetry, reflection | , , ,

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