Just Weep

by Ice Star

Washing Up

You could lay at the bottom of a meadow
forever
trying to recreate every city
and estate that burdened the clouds
from the time before
you had to fetch your own food
and the wilds became your kitchen

Or you could let out the tears
that sit in an overwhelming lump
waiting at the back of your throat
to pounce and choke you
breaking the cheer
that you so carefully assemble
and smear—
on your face the way
you used to wear
mother's makeup—
after you wash your face off
in a clear brook
each morning you have stayed here
searching

Often
you swallow it
somehow
that only makes
it grow
and your chest
feel tight
for a little while
longer
than you think it should

But imagining is what
Luna fills her head with
not you
not now
not sooner
nor later