I can’t take a picture of your tears.
When I press the button
the shutter springs open
and the light burns an image onto film
but all that the blind chemicals on the roll can paint
is a two dimensional portrait
of two puffy eyes pooling with water
and two cool salty streams
streaking down hot cheeks
like dewdrops looking for a rose.
That image is enough to leave my throat dry
and picture myself kissing your tears away
with a slow touch of my own pouting lips
but even the blurry blues of van Gogh’s Starry Night
wouldn’t be enough
to capture a single drop of you.
A simple portrait has no way of tracing
the two silent streams rolling down your frown
back to the spring at their source.
Your tears aren’t empty.
Each one of them holds a watercolor painting
that captures someone else’s muted cry
like a pond reflecting the moon and the stars.
Your tears are the dove
who keeps on flapping burning muscles over raging waters
scanning the horizon for a perch on dry land
until it sighs one last breath
and tumbles into the sea.
They are the children of the South
blasted by water cannons
and tossed down the street like wet black tumbleweeds
just because the color of their skin
doesn’t fit in
with the pasty white flesh
of the hand that holds the whip.
They are the dry-eyed woman on a stone cold ledge
who closes her eyes and leans forward
to plunge from a cloudy velvet and charcoal sky
and kiss the blacktop below
because the streets were softer and more open
than the arms of her lover.
They are the children of some dusty village
stashed out of sight
so that they can drop to the ground
and decompose where they lay
without turning the stomachs
of the men in suits and ties
or the soccer moms who buy their lies.
Your tears hold all of these pictures
but with each masterpiece they paint across your face
I can see a glimpse of the artist
caught in the reflection.
Even though all of the paintings held by your tears
are streaked with crying blues and screaming crimson
the portrait they paint of you
is alive with roses and peaches
and the turquoise sky of your eyes.
So now that you’ve let it all flow down your face
and the source of your tears is clear
let me kiss your cheeks and eyes until they’re dry
so that we can hold each other close
like two teardrops meeting on the lips of a smile.