I used to be a cryer
I would weep during hymns
I would tear up at commercials
I cried whenever a children’s choir sang, years before I became a mother
I would cry reading certain poignant picture books to my kids
They would look up at me, puzzled. Sometimes my daughter would pat my back,
sweetly
I have been no stranger to heaving, angry sobs
To the kind of crying that devolves into snot and a pounding head and a sore throat
The kind that is like an exorcism
I have wept in my car
Sometimes while driving
Sometimes parked outside something I didn’t want to face
I have cried in the shower to camouflage my sadness
Lately
no tears will come
Not for lack of reasons to despair, lament, mourn
for there are plenty
more than enough
Yet instead of streaming down my cheeks
Only a stingy drop or two fills my eyes
Only enough to sting
not to cleanse
I envy your cathartic crying that comes so often now
and why shouldn’t it?
Tonight, listening to a familiar favorite folk singer
observing that all her songs sounded more melancholy than I’d heard them before
understanding why,
I squeezed my eyes closed
watching the silhouettes form behind my eyelids–
a turtle, an archer, a waitress serving pie
Sensing an enormous reservoir
of unshed tears
rising, rising
3 comments
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January 21, 2018 at 8:17 am
Chris
Wow, so clear and powerful. Are you submitting it to a poetry or literary journal? Or, I see this and others bound in a slim book with deckled parchment pages. A treasure. Thanks for sharing. Sent from my iPhone
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January 21, 2018 at 8:39 pm
Patty Giesecke
Lovely Betsy…..just lovely. Love the new hair cut!!!!
On Sun, Jan 21, 2018 at 12:14 AM, You Ask a Lot of Questions wrote:
> betsyjrrosso posted: “I used to be a cryer I would weep during hymns I > would tear up at commercials I cried whenever a children’s choir sang, > years before I became a mother I would cry reading certain poignant picture > books to my kids They would look up at me, puzzled. Somet” >
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April 2, 2019 at 12:02 pm
Faye
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