These are the tears for playground slights
when my face refused to let you know the wound
was deeper than the joke at my expense.
These are the tears for loving him too much
when he had no longing for me, found love elsewhere.
Tears for moving on, finding someone in his place.
These are tears for not getting it right,
when doubts and frustration hampered joy,
tears dried by determination to be better, next time.
These are tears that would not come
at the graveside, tears that made their rivers later,
when I had forgotten the numbness grief brings.
These are the tears for my unborn child,
ten weeks adrift before her heartbeat was lost,
blood I never saw, the feelings of fault.
These are the tears for tragedies inflicted:
the napalmed girl, the boy in the waves, Aberfan,
when the torment of strangers is brought home.
These are the tears, insoluble salt crystals,
spread on a glass slide, magnified a hundredfold,
photographed for the world to see.
Rose-Lynn Fisher exhibition –The Topography
of Tears ‘series of duotone photographs of tears
shed for a kaleidoscope of reasons, dried on
glass slides, and captured in a hundredfold
magnification through a high-resolution