Your name means happy,
but right now sadness is pressing upon your belly
and all the butterflies are gone.
Know that I would carry this cross for you if I could.
I would baptise you in salt water until every bruise
is banished from your skin.
I would rebuild you with hope
and christen you Esperanza.
Know that I still consider you a saint.
I would cradle your body like a blessing
if only you’d let me.
And when you decide to button up your beauty,
know that I will hand you a cherry blossom
to show you that some things cannot be buried.
I will cherish your loveliness for eternity.
Do not ever think about blaming yourself.
Remember that you are a relic
and his touch cannot tarnish your holiness.
Find comfort in the fact that you will conquer this burden.
Slowly, you will discover yourself amidst the ruin.
It might take more than suturing to put yourself back together,
but know that I will cheer for every part you patch up.
You will laugh at the reunion.
Leonor Morrow is a nineteen-year-old writer and photographer. She plans to major in Culture and Politics at Georgetown University. She will soon begin interning with the poetry non-profit Split This Rock. She still uses a thesaurus even though she knows plenty of words, and she thinks that sums her up pretty well. Her work has been featured in The Harpoon Review and Hooligan Magazine, among other places. Visit her blog at www.leonormorrow.tumblr.com.