As teardrops grow on lashes
heavy we hang suspended
in a solution of our own making.
A fallen drop lets a sense of self
seep through Rushmore ways.
‘Dry your eyes’ a child hears and the adult
remembers a hand or anything to hand
restoring surface agreements.
Observe the father who sips through the day
staggering and scattering his children away
pounding the ice for a child in his care
sodden forever in his hole of despair.
Whose hurt is stopped up in a broken down home
where a toy breaking infant playing alone
finds a prostrated mother lying stripped bare
under some passing uncle’s repair?
Lie on a blanket and cradle your brother
hold him in sleep as you once dreamed together
of sweets and treats and flags in the air
before words became weapons and families could tear.
As teardrops fall
cries burst on a moment’s penetration
are touched and dried
But sift the ruins of a protected site
re-find old earth with careful digging
touch the wells of our ancient selves
and evolve ever gently through a tear.
Tam Beirne copyright