Flood Plain

in praise of falling apart

By Abigail Taylor (aka haikupunk)

At some point, I stopped crying.

The tears get stuck somewhere in my face,
blocked behind some imaginary dam
I built, I’m guessing, to keep me safe.

Recently I asked myself, upon choking back—
it was during a film or maybe a play—
when did I stop crying?

I used to do it once or twice, a day or a week:
let myself fall apart and melt like honey.

So, I’ve been rereading books of poetry
and listening to sad records, happy ones too,
sitting still, teaching myself to cry again.
To let myself unravel

even *gasp* in front of another person.

A person who also cries.

And then today!
I couldn’t stop the rain.

And lo,
It wasn’t even scary—
it even quenched
this droughted, bursting heart.

How strange that I’ve come
to yearn for a flood.