How long will you bear the weight of silence before it shatters you? What makes it so challenging for you to open your heart and accept assistance? Like a forest fire dwindling to its final embers, you are a vibrant flame that continues to flicker. I can sense it in the ashes of your stride. I wonder if the metaphorical prison cells you carry on your shoulders ever become too burdensome. I wonder if they’re the cause of your faltering steps. I question if the prison cells you bear, affixed to your speech, ever weigh too heavily on your words. I speculate if they’re what’s causing your stammering speech, making your words arrive tardy.

I can perceive the clouds of apprehension that monitor your every action. When will you liberate the words, you unlawfully confine behind the gates of your ‘Tupiniquim’ mouth? You don worn leather gloves to hide those colossal callused hands of yours, hands that bear the markings of refugee battle camps at their tips. Even through the fabric, I can detect the aridity of your peeling, damaged, ‘Senzalas’ knuckles. Disjointed homeless settlements at the bend of your fingers. Gleaming ‘Favelas and curtiços’ cuticles. And the indelible scars of constantly having to stitch yourself back together.

You express that your silent cries have been disregarded for far too long, much like your prayers. You might as well adopt another name, perhaps Maria or Valentina, or join the countless anonymous siblings lost amidst this unjust social war. But I implore you, do not surrender. We are all somewhat fractured, numbed by the many years of servitude. Yet, if you gradually begin by easing the tension around your heart, I assure you, it’s the first step towards healing all that has been ravaged within you.

© Beatriz Esmer