Tears

Tears used to come easy to me

I’d cry from grief

Frustration

Anger

Despair

Or even joy.

The salt would stain my face

And I’d look out

From red-rimmed eyes

These days my eyes are dry

Too dry

Crusty every morning

With my unshed tears

I heat a washcloth

In the microwave

And rub them gently

To loosen what couldn’t be shed.

Who knew

That even in these times

My eyes would need

Artificial tears.

To cry

The grief

Frustration

Anger

Despair

And joy

Are still with me though

They aren’t artificial at all.