Originalmente publicado en Succubus Magazine, en su versión digital y física en Junio del 2026

My scars are open wounds on my mother’s skin.

My open wounds are twisting knives.

Sometimes she feels the pain out of nowhere and she asks;

but she only gets interminable “I'm fine”s.

She carries with my pain,  and I carry with the knowledge:

the things I let them do to me weight on her,

the things I didn’t let them do to me are for only me to regret,

that If she could she wouldn’t make justice,

she’d take revenge.

She’s setting me off in a teak boat while she swims in saltwater,

burns against torn skin,

cutting open two hearts.