Disposition to Weepiness

(both me and the willow tree)

 

Does her back buckle 

under the heaviness

of all she carries,

or is she genuflecting,

in constant prayer,

with her wooden feet

wrapping around

Mother Earth’s spine,

herself the one held?

I have to suppose, both.

Maybe we are given

heavy tears and fists

to fold our waists

so that our foreheads,

pressed to the floor,

can remember holiness.

I’m sorry, so often,

I remember to listen

when only in despair

after I’ve exhausted

all my options, and myself,

to sink my head

down from the clouds

and into your lap.