Bronze Star (poem)

I cannot carry this.
I am no hero.

When I hold this star
in my palm,
I feel the jagged edges
of splintered bones.

And I break,
I break like a bronzed mirror
reflecting shards of
a survivor's face.

I'm sorry.
I will not parade with a star,
and a red, white, and blue
ribbon round my neck.

There are stars still
inside my chest,
shrapnel stars within stars
flaring in my blood-red heart.

Their tarnished points
pierce through my skin
as bone fragments
as I wash off the blood

in my morning shower's
monsoon rain.

—rg cantalupo