It doesn’t take much to get me to weep.
A minor chord in a TV soundtrack.
A glimpse of a memory
The slightest glance in my wife’s eyes
Sometimes the wind blows
and I lose it.
Are you crying again she’ll ask me
after a backyard squirrel runs up a tree.
And, invariably, I am.
Like Joseph who wept when his
long-lost brothers stood before him.
His finger on the pit.
Instead of revenge, he chose tears.
Or, does one ever choose whether
or not water flows from our eyes?
Our sadness reminds us we are human
subject to the emotional weight
of right and wrong.
Beat up by constant reminders
of our impermanence, or the pain
of what could have been.
Yes, that new song is making me verklempt.
I want everyone to stop what they’re doing
and sing it with me.
I’m willing to pull you out of the pit
even if I was the one who pushed you in.
Even if it makes me cry.