I Cry

“Sorrows which find no vent in tears will soon make other organs weep.” -Henry Maudsley

It’s utterly humiliating.  Why
must I be doomed to blubber like a dunce
at anything that moves me?  Never dry
or cool, I’m drowning in the genome pool.

Emotions, down with you!  Get dressed, you sluts!
Behave yourselves — stay covered to the neck.
You’re killing my performance, spilling guts,
indecently parading on the deck.

Bewildered, stunned reactions (vacant eyes
and slackened jaws and shuffled shoes) are fraught
with undertones from all who patronize
with pep talk: “Get a grip. You’re overwrought.”

If weepers ruled the planet, we’d allow
a bit of slack for those who don’t know how.



2002 Mary Boren
View discussion.

Healing Tears

I caught the fragile essence of a rose
that floated from the pinnacle of pain
and wafted through my senses. In the deep
encrusted caverns of my heart, I felt
an indescribable, compelling rush
of joy—unfettered, boundless joy—and as
it bubbled to the surface seeking out
the path of least resistance to the light,
I clung to earth, awash in healing tears.

It comes and goes, but always leaves a gift:
Love’s fragrance clings to all the rose has touched.



2002  Mary Boren
View discussion.