the weight

what a crazy thing
the crying jag
is.
to spontaneously burst
out into tears,
sobbing,
clutching a wall,
or someone
to hold onto, to keep
from falling over
with grief and sorrow.
who hasn't been there,
been to those holy
grounds
that sorrow is,
or won't be
there in time.
and when you're done,
done for awhile,
exhausted you sit
and stare
at anything, trying
to find one thing that
doesn't remind you of
her,
anything that won't
start you up again,
folded under the dark
weight of
tears.