Featured Poem: Artifical Tears

By Connie Wanek

Tears sometimes come in a bottle.
Twist it open and apply drops
several times daily
if you haven’t enough of your own,
if you’ve begun to see light

where there is none,
on a humid night in the country,
black and brooding. Nothing.
And then a lightning strike.
But sometimes darkness
is the symptom: an ink spot, a stain,
a crow in the corn,
and a face you love stops smiling.
A temporary burning sensation
is normal. Perhaps
you’ll see double, two worlds,
the woods twice as thick,
two hunter’s moons,
one trailing the other. It may be
you’re not blinking enough
or getting the sleep you need.
Bottled weeping: break the safety
seal, tip your head back, force
your eyes open, and let
the tears fall in.
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