Saturday, April 28, 2012

I know why they cry sometimes

I remember
you were sitting on your knees 
in a bathtub half full of water
and I was standing on my toes 
watching the mascara run down your face
as you held me in your mouth.
Knees trembling, my whole body quivering
like a tightly drawn bowstring
and I had to hang onto the curtain rod for balance.
Still on your knees, you arched your back and sat up
your mouth swelling with the storm gathering inside me
hanging on by my fingertips, my legs shaking uncontrollably 
my mouth, as incapable of speech as yours.
When I finally came like rain after a drought
a flood, a tsunami, dumbstruck
as waves of the ocean's roar shook my body
like a leaf. Unable to stand, I collapsed on the toilet bowl
and I remember feeling an overwhelming need to cry or laugh
and not knowing how you'd take the tears
I laughed and I laughed, like thunder 
from dry storm clouds finally granted release.

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