My Son's Tears

My children’s sorrows

weigh on me

She, circumspect, shrouded, lifts her veil

now and then

let’s me see her wholly, holy

Full of anguish for this, for that.

She, with her compartments, comportment, keeps largely quiet

Quiet to me

No divining divinity

But, when her bubble bursts and I see, try to hold,

I have to hold on.

Then, him.

His anguish, mine

No shroud for him, no trusty shield

Pale skin

all open wounds — gouges, gashes

Ragged, jagged scars

Not quite healed

leaking

Is there no balm in Gilead?

A lifetime of

too much pain, fear, loss

For one, so young

Ugly memories of

uglier times

Organs exposed, pulsing

Anticipating more

of the same

My son’s tears

Bring me

to my weak knees

And I am undone

Not done

His weight bared

How do I bear the weight

of

My son’s tears

Copyright © 2025 Lisa Stathoplos Slay Me, My Hapless Darlings