Hatchet-shaped hole in a heart-shaped world

Wipe the tears off your 8yo self's face
You will make it to 48 tell her
'tho 49 will be out of reach

Lick the blood from your palm
wrap scraped knuckles in a dirty sock
Your marble long since fell out your pocket

Your chin hairs will press hard into
your little boy's head
as you hug him goodbye

Her hidden smokes stained her wimple
till the habit was in plain sight
she escapes a long marriage to man
in a marriage to God

All screams trail off to the same silence.

A new heart will beat again shortly.