When Art Makes You Cry

'Tears not only represent feeling but are also lenses through which we gain an alternative vision, another point of view' ~ Clarissa Pinkola Estés in Women Who Run With Wolves

'Tears not only represent feeling but are also lenses through which we gain an alternative vision, another point of view' ~ Clarissa Pinkola Estés in Women Who Run With Wolves

When art makes you cry, this, I've decided is an excellent thing. This past week; tears (full on nose blowing ones) during the film Columbus; a slow moving, spacious film capturing the beauty contained in the still life's and architecture that shape (often unnoticed) our day to day life. Tears (silent, make-up smudging ones) upon hearing Marie Howe reading her poem 'Magdalene - The Seven Devils' on this podcast; listen to it here (approx. 36.05 minutes in) if you can ( especially if you don't really like poetry; this is poetry at it's best ). Tears (well not quite, but watery eyes of joy) when I wandered into the Shakespeare and Company Bookshop (because if I have time I can't not go in) and found a book that intrigued me and a seat in a corner to read, where I am joined by the resident cat; she sits on my lap for the whole time I'm there, cat's never like me!

When art makes you cry

On a day that you chose

To wear eye make up.

Make up for what?

My eyes without 

Colouring in

Are not good enough?

Sad thing is

That today it’s only

Me that will see 

My eyes in disguise;

Natural masks natural 

I did it for me?

To present my best self 

To the day?

But I did not expect

My eyes to well up

On account of a poem

I heard on a show

I stopped eating my toast

So no crunch could distract 

From a single silence or word. 

Afterwards my eyes sting

I find cotton wool and I wipe

It away my eyes redden 

Beneath water and oil and my hands

They question themselves 

These incredible moons in my face

How many time have I hurt them?

How many more time will I?

My husband, my brother, my dad

Don’t partake in this wiping of eyes 

Much at all.

A watercolour I become

They just watch

They’re tear ducts

Disconnected

It seems from the soul

I’ll keep crying for 

All of us.