the waterworks

a short poem.

“your tears are pain,”

they say,

or are they rain?

will they nourish the flowers,

or keep me here, stifled—

something less of a coward?

-

i’m wilting;

don’t you see?

perhaps the flower was never what was in front of me

but myself all along:

wailing a prayer of hope

to find the antidote for the tears

that never seem to clear,

despite the faucet’s clog

and my mind’s ceaseless fog.

xx

cali