Broken Hearts

Broken Hearts

Laala Kashef Algahta

She made to spit her heart out
into her waiting hand,
a half an inch away
from curling into a fist.

I grab her by the shoulders,
look into her eyes,
tell her she's beautiful,
wonderful and that I love her.
I grasp her chin in my hand
make her look up and see
the world, which is so in love
with her. Her smile, her laugh
and the way she's always ready
to stick her tongue out.

She breaks down and I hate
to see her so desolate,
so defeated. She is Napoleon
at Waterloo and I wish
it were otherwise
or that it were another time.

I hug her, make her promise
to never spit out her heart.
It's too precious, I tell her.
She looks at me, doesn't reply.