I cried fiercely, but with her I didn’t cry. “Really?” she said; she was quite surprised. "With her I cried in private, behind the scenes, discreetly." She probably believed it not because with her I cried so deeply.
Tears fell one day so plentiful a stranger wouldn’t leave me, and circled back when she left cause she did not believe me. I told her I was fine but she refused to leave me, until I acted brave and said, “Trust me, please believe me.”
When my mother’s mother died, she didn’t cry that evening. She didn’t cry that morning, nor did she the next evening. The only thing she said was that the train car was so cold, the one that took her further from her mom and brought her home.
These women do not cry, they don’t, and I so very fiercely
fight the fights they couldn’t fight, and cry the tears so fiercely
cry the tears so openly, a stranger wouldn't leave me
something shaking violently inside of me for them.
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