My heart is a caged, battered thing,
a medieval city with two sets of walls,
a fortress built from stones
bearing bloody handprints,
teary streaks, reminders
that barriers do two things,
they exist for a reason,
and they come with a cost.
For now I bear the bruises,
take pride in my strong walls,
patch the cracks when I feel weak.
Tomorrow might be the day
to feel the rain on my face.
Jeana Jorgensen teaches college classes in the Midwest, directs a dance troupe, nurtures a sourdough starter, and occasionally knits when she can find the time. She also spends entirely too much time on Twitter @foxyfolklorist.