The Topography of Tears

 

I was carefully caressing old papers

The kinds we treasure

Hidden in a wooden box, tobacco, from when smoking was still a rite of passage

Slips, notes, cuttings, beauties of visceral import

At the time, and now.

Amongst them a photocopy, the cover of a book I never managed to own

‘The Topography of Tears’ RL Fisher

The paper, velvet from my hands

unfolding it, smoothing, shedding tears on it, coffee. Re-folded. 

A ritual of sorts 

Under a microscope, in my tears, I am sure you will find crisp palaces.

Lake District mountains, deep Swiss lakes, filigree Norfolk river runs

If my life was depicted in tears

would you see icy oceans?

Or the lukewarm duckpond Kristine weed in when she was three?

 

Tears. Single drops or

cascades running off the Jostedal Glacier? Peeled onion 

ugly-crying? That perfect laughter tear?

Mine are smoke sodden, from the burning of heathers on high up moors. 

Tears long, black. The 80ies mascara kind. Visible

anguish

Dirty plaits braiding, hungry for reshaping. Seas digging into lands, my

boundaries fluid  

Does the sea cry too? The eaten land, does it bay? Like I do, for you?

Do tears tear up?

The possibility of tears’ tears, breaks me and all I can think of

is you

Your last tears, what did they show?

How can I know when I didn’t make it to catch

your last breath, your final tear

I would have let it run on 

to my finger, tasted it. 

Maybe bottled it. Saving the contours of its landscapes for later, 

maybe never in

fear of craggity sharp, vile Sauron landscapes

 I cry for you, we all do. The glaciers, the seas, lands, me. All the cries.  

Salty flakes in burial crowns and serenades

 

I fold. In all the ways a woman can. Fold that velvet page too

Topography of Tears, back in the smokebox

#sussithepoet

#grief

Read more about Rose-Lynn Fisher here: Rose-Lynn Fisher

This poem was finished with the support from https://londonwriterssalon.com/ where I have been turning up at 8AM most days the last months.