It’s not that I don’t want to.
The mix isn’t right.
Too much salt.
I’m dried up…
But I don’t want to be.
The after burn is gone.
No tracks to trace.
No liquid pearls.
At one point in each visit
our eyes would well.
We sat across the table
and shared life stuff.
We wouldn’t wipe them.
We would pluck each
others, like grapes,
and set them gently down.
No allowing them to run away.
We would cup our hands
under each others chin
and let them fall.
It was then I could see
her face in my hands.
My reflection revealed
in her pool of tears.
She drew mine to her mouth
and sipped with a smile.
I laughed and washed
my face with her liquid salt.
When I was a child she used to say, “Oh, dry up!” Yet, since we became more than mother and son, our tears often entered our conversations. She no longer said, “Oh, dry up!” but joined with me and I with her. I know I wasn’t the only one who sat across from her at the table of tears AND laughter!
© Gerald Allen Barrett and parentheticallyspeakingin3d, 2012.
Gerald the Writer 
Reblogged this on Gerald the Writer and commented:
Reblogged for a poetry prompt
This will read great in your book, Dad. 🙂
This’ll read great in your book, Dad. 🙂
And it tOok me ten flippin minutes to post that :PPP
liquid pearls..i like…tears are something precious indeed..we just don’t look at them in this way…we should..thanks for this jerry..
powerl jerry…when we are willing to taste the tears of others and truly understanf them…what a beautiful thing that can be isnt it?