Tears link, somehow,
the nation's tragedy
with my own.
My father was not
a man to cry in public,
so when he did, it counted--
like when the towers fell,
or when he wished he'd live
to see how I turned out.
Those were the two times
I saw him cry.
It's good to keep a place for tears--
a bottle, David said.
Something broken in our hearts
is always crying
for the touch of God.
Thank you, dear.
ReplyDeleteA poem moving and lovely in its tender vulnerability. (And this is my first time reading it.)
ReplyDeleteThank you, Thomas ~
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