“What little it was” by Julia walking home

Friday September 9, 2016
5 minutes
No Country For Old Men
Cormac McCarthy

He looked at me with tears in his eyes maybe it was the first time
maybe it was the second
I wanted to keep each one in a jar by our bed to remind him of what it looks like to let it go
what it looks like to feel it deep what it looks like to let somebody else see
if I could’ve put them in a jar I would’ve put the lid on so tight I would have put a label next to it
I would have told him maybe this was meant to happen
the answers are never too far beyond the place where tears come from
I didn’t feel bad
I wanted him to cry more
I wanted him to let all of his demons out for once
let them see what it’s like in the real world
let them see if they can play outside of his body
It is so much bigger outside of his body
so much more room for them
so many more things for them to choose instead of clinging to his insides and making him bleed
and making him hurt and making him so used to the pain that he thinks it’s normal
what little it was
the tears that fell
that soaked my shirt
that burned my shoulder skin
and yet how many moons have wept at the silence of him
sometimes I catch myself staring
willing his tear ducts to produce something worth keeping