Women Weep Tonight
Gibson Holub
Women weep tonight, like a holiday of
sorrow they weep, and I comfort a few
of them in sympathy of their tears.
They all cry tonight and I wonder if it has
something to do with the moon, or the seasons,
or the soft rain that came just two days ago.
I watch the tears fall, each one simple.
Tears like snowflakes of sadness, floating
softly down, leaving wet trails before
dropping off the face that is bent and torn
in depression.
She wipes her eyes constantly, and once she moved
her hand to leave a single eyelash resting on
her cheek, and I told her that if she guessed
which cheek held the eyelash she would get a wish.
With a very small, shy, crying smile she accepted my
concern and whispered to me that she thought the
lash was on her right cheek, and with a large grin
I nodded. She smiled too, and bowed her head as
is traditional for wishes.
She had guessed wrong about the lash,
but on a night such as this one, a night
where women weep, I lied for her sake. And
even though now the wish will never come true,
I am happy because I made a crying woman
smile and wishes never come true anyway.
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