Together.
She cries,
there in the car next to me,
moved so by how big the world is,
how unimaginable others’ trials and tribulations are,
how disconnected we all are.
She remembers where she was;
I do too.
We talk about how people suffer,
how we all have this suffering,
how to turn this suffering into universal love,
like a lotus flower blooming out of the mud.
She cries,
there in the chair next to me,
moved so by the effect of illness,
the uselessness felt when faced with such,
the unanswerable unmentionables.
She remembers when she heard;
I do too.
We talk about how to handle the questions,
how to handle the feelings,
how to handle the questions and feelings of others,
debating the priorities and quandaries in such a sinkhole of a situation.
She cries,
there on the stool in front of me,
moved so by the enormity of pending death,
how we can lose love so quickly,
the way those who leave pile up so quickly.
She remembers the list;
I do too.
We talk about how to sing that song,
how to wear that color,
how to deal with anything but what’s inside,
clawing its way out through her tear ducts and up her closing throat.
She cries,
here in the body I wear,
moved so by how many people can cry,
how they can cry and not feel each other’s tears,
how I feel as I finally wake to the sounds of their sobs.
They feel their own pain;
I do too.
I talk about how we all lose those we love,
how we would all like to hold on but know we can’t,
how the world is losing itself,
right as we speak.
And we all live together,
we all love together,
we all lose together.
We all cry
together.
Copyright © Allison Kinzy | Year Posted 2007
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