By Elizabeth Mabee
Stillness it appears,
calm before the eruption.
Puddle filled with water
and darkness,
trouble lurking in the depths.
A wispy droplet beckons, emerging
out of the watering hole
silently,
free at last
Tiny, innocent crystal ball
clear and sparkling in light
first, breaching
over the lower lid
and lash —
it does not contain
your full sorrow
but a mere bead of truth
Down, caressing the
cheek, as it
gracefully glides across the
delicate skin, nothing more.
The piles, the ruins
tumbling down like
timber.
And the sweet,
salty taste
once it reaches and eventually
surpasses your lip
Then, as it’s washed
away from your reserves
by the harsh smear
of cotton. Lost forever until
the process repeats.
One gone now.
Again another tear,
two gone
now. They continue to
fall