Between Bruises and Blooms

Every morning
I shuffle the deck
with court dates
still folded
inside my chest.

Justice
hides somewhere
between seventy-eight cards.

Not because cardboard
can change a judge’s mind—

but because
hope needs somewhere
to rest
before breakfast.

The scales
have felt uneven
for so long
I’ve forgotten
what balance
looks like.

Still,

I keep shuffling.

Because faith
sometimes sounds like cardstock
against tired hands.