Crying in Colour
I’ve never seen you cry in blue,
even now that you are free to wash your food with salt
before consuming. You never cried
in streams or drizzles either but as tiny glaciers of crystalized
emotion, hoping I’d sit long enough
for them to dissolve. You never tried
to cry in colour – I told you once that was too simple.
You cried for me in pages, in shards of teacups I marked up
with lipstick. You cried them out like beads and
left the day I came to love the search for them more
than I loved decoding your sadness.