She was strong
And she was pretty -
Gutsy -
With a full voice,
A bonnet of dark curly hair
And rosey cheeks
That glowed at the prospect of
Tomorrows full of laughter and hope.
Her bright brown eyes
Sparkled like new stars -
Twinkling songs of joy
In a glorious night sky.

She was a young child
Housing a wise, old soul
That possessed knowledge
No child should.
In her innocence
She was keenly unaware.
Blind to perversity;
Deaf to the cruel words
That often landed close enough to destroy.

Watching her walk through the danger,
Some thought her disabled,
And, in their kindness,
Wished her to heal.

As she grew,
The blindness was lifted
And her ears began to hear.

She mistook it for a blessing
Because soon enough
What she saw made her wretch
What she heard pierced her heart
Until it threatened to stop giving her life altogether.

She was eight when the innocence left her.
That day, the wise old soul died.
Her voice became silent.
She grew weak from hunger,
Her eyes dull
But for the one shining tear
That would not fall.

All the days of that child,
The one tear
Glistened and shined
But it would not fall.

As she became a woman
With children of her own,
The tears of of a mother with hungry children of her own
Fell freely
While the one tear of the broken child she was
Remained.
Time and again
She struggled to offer what had already been stolen,
To feed her hungry children.
But where there should have been bread
There was only a stone.

One day,
When the children were crying
And the dishes lay undone,
She heard the voice of the wise old soul
Calling softly through the veil
Of an ancient past...

"Let go of the one tear,
For it possesses the pain of all broken promises
And every betrayal
Within its tiny parameters
Lives a flood of sorrow
Where today,
You journey to swim
Perhaps to drown.
Let go, child...
Let go, young woman...
For peace cannot surround you
Until the storm that rages
In this simple tear
Rages no more."

With a long, whispering sigh
That stretched across time
The woman stepped out of the flood
And stood,
Finally,
On the water's edge.
At once the storm quieted,
The water receeded.

As she turned to walk away,
She realized that, at last,
Her fists were unclenched.
With a trembling finger
She wiped away the one tear
And felt the release
As it slid past rosey cheeks
And smiling lips.

Today, the wise old soul
Can be heard laughing
When the woman holds her babies.
Once again, her eyes sparkle -
Twinkling songs of joy
That shine in the glory of the rising sun.

11/01/1993

Posted on 12/10/2003
Copyright © 2024 Alison McKenzie