the why of cry

10 Aug

It is me, melting.

The trigger of tears is never far

because I have come to live outside my skin

where the spillage from the sun, the changeable weather of you,

the  smoke from the burning pages of my story,

you, just the closeness of you – all of you who let me in –

has me sliding into your flames as I begin to go.

I am a messy ghost,  bubbling up, spilling out,

rising up,

away from black clouds – I swirl

toward light.

There has been time for work,

to put things in order,

to file, to box, to scrub the bottom bin in the fridge,

and there has been time to make linger,

to waste in bed, on chairs, unshowered, undressed, messed.

There is no sense in crying out:

the god king’s fallen into chunks and dust,

the goddess lost herself in unseemly sex,

the fairies are hidden with good reason, and

friends require words for telling.

My tears have not yet learned to speak.

This is what is left:

the calendar

the sunlight

the rain

the roaring in my ears

the devil in the woods.

Can you comprehend this scientific explanation on the phenomenon of tears?

Sprinkle your questions on my cooling embers –

the sizzle and smoke on bone are clear enough;

it’s all I’ve got.



23 Responses to “the why of cry”

  1. smilecalm August 10, 2014 at 3:26 pm #

    how wonder to give
    all you have 🙂

    • marga t. August 10, 2014 at 6:36 pm #

      Wonder what all that
      holding on was all about…
      no matter now! 🙂

  2. Hariod Brawn August 10, 2014 at 3:55 pm #

    This is frighteningly potent stuff if I may say so.

    Many congratulations on this work Marga.

    Hariod. ❤

    • marga t. August 10, 2014 at 6:51 pm #

      Rainy, teary, shapeless days are such a mystery wishing to not be solved. You are so kind to pick through the bones and ashes with me! xo! m

  3. seeingm August 10, 2014 at 4:38 pm #

    My past week: the fridge quit working in the middle of hosting company and last night there was a trip to the emergency vet in Portland to leave Luke for IV and observation (after I spent two nights sleeping next to him on the kitchen floor.)

    I taste tears in my mouth and remember that salty can be seen as an indication of movement toward savory and that letting the tongue taste bitterness (in this case) is a choice.

    Gracious, the depth of Marga. Love you so. -x.M

    • marga t. August 10, 2014 at 6:48 pm #

      Oh gracious, you do fill in the missing pieces!
      Heart goes out to Luke love (I’ve been searching to show Chloe a picture – only one I can find is from hospital stay a few years ago.) and to M, who, in the midst of such tumult, points toward the true wisdom in the salty path of choosing to love. The wish to ease rises in me, but l think I signed on to the team who cry into the sea to give you buoyancy through these waters.
      xo! m

  4. Michael August 10, 2014 at 8:58 pm #

    It is humbling, M, to witness these moments. It’s like running down the stairs, rappelling from the banister, dashing down the hall and turning the corner to come up short, caught in your tracks, realizing before the words can even make their report… here, something is happening. This is where Everything has established it’s frontier.

    There is so much grace revealed in the sequences when our lives tear inchwise along the seams, bit by bit, and we shed the skin we once thought was a magic carpet. And such beauty in looking ambiguity in the eye. What’s left when the bones are done boiling off is what can never be taken.

    We think we’re crying for what is lost or missing, and at some point the wind shifts, and we’re crying for what we’ve found. I think it’s nearly time for the lemon cookies.


    • marga t. August 11, 2014 at 1:23 pm #

      Tears unlinked to sorrow and now bound to the power within transformation, and the tight embrace of beauty. Not only your seeing, but your ability to add to the mix is a mighty gift. Wind shift, indeed! Perhaps a tear or two fell into the cookie batter – just to let you know – as we are gathering for this potent tea time! 🙂

  5. Andrea August 11, 2014 at 2:44 am #

    Oh the raw stuff. Somehow it is just so potent, every tear holds the crystals of Margas powers and prowess and humility and heart breaking, earth shattering beauty. I know these moments in my own ways, and somehow we feel each other holding one another, even though we appear to be alone, enliven thigh perhaps we may not have even met yet. How your words resonate and calm the deep tumultuous waters of my own being. Love to you, lovely Marga.

    • Andrea August 11, 2014 at 2:46 am #

      Enliven thigh? I need to get a pair of those! Auto correct, you cut both ways. Perhaps I shouldn’t type on my phone before bed, but I was so touched. Sending you lots of enlivened thigh energy! We could all use some o’dat!

      • marga t. August 11, 2014 at 2:43 pm #

        Oh, you are so fun and dear, Andrea! I read and reread the original post, making sense of it, but also having a little giggle. I think this is my most favorite autocorrect ever! And useful, for I must get me some of those thighs – as I am on a body moving mission, of late. For you to share with me here, in my most unformed and strange space, bolsters me and adds joy to my steps (with my enlivened you-know-whats); sometimes now feels like the place and people of my dream life – a gathering of a tribe from long ago where we can now speak in a tongue we are remembering together. So much love sent to you today in your summer mother flow! m

  6. Mardepalabras August 11, 2014 at 4:55 am #

    The point where you don’t really feel tears are worth the trouble, no that’s not quite right, where you no longer have the hope that they’ll do you any good. That point, what’s it called?

    • marga t. August 11, 2014 at 2:50 pm #

      I know that place too – but i’ve never given it a name. I will hang with you there and wonder with you what is wishing to be born. What is the longing for motion that feels stuck in the pipes? I think thinking can’t uncover it, nor words. The question of its name is so good, for even though unanswerable, you are calling it out, seeing it, a wish for change, and once you have done that, it cannot hide so easily anymore in the form of despair. Big love and appreciation sent your way, my friend. I am sitting and looking with you, for real! xo! marga

  7. amandaseesdreams August 11, 2014 at 1:54 pm #

    Hi Marga,
    I find you so rhythmic, I just love it. To find myself dancing with your words as they make their way through me, pulsing. There is something very rhythmic about you, something very, very woman, very alive, that I respond to deeply.
    Love, Amanda

    PS. I did have an “Oh sh*t” moment as I read this and realized I meant to clean out the bottom bin of the fridge yesterday!! lol

    • marga t. August 11, 2014 at 2:55 pm #

      Ah, you are calling me out, without knowing it, Amanda 🙂 For I said there is time for such work, but it doesn’t mean I’ve gotten to it yet – so perhaps we can put on some good music and conquer such a chore as this together. When words bubble up in me, so unplanned and un-thoughtout, I think I may sit and wait to understand through the reflection you give back to me. A generous gift it is, your reflection! xo! marga

      Let me know the soundtrack you pick, and I will use that as motivation to get to work!

  8. ptero9 August 12, 2014 at 4:07 am #

    Dear Marga,

    It’s not often that sad and beauty show up together as they do in this line:

    “My tears have not yet learned to speak.”

    That line flooded my awareness with some powerful memories of years ago. Wow, there was a time…!

    Wonderfully powerful are these words you speak.

    Thank you!

    • marga t. August 13, 2014 at 1:21 am #

      I am struck by the kindness of your finding and pointing out words that speak. You bring them back to my attention as well. Poetry lately seems to be what helps point to the unspeakable that still longs for expression.
      I have been longing to spend some time on your next chapter, Maren’s sharings, and Michael’s dive into reality, but the flow of life duties has other ideas, right now. I love having these places to look forward to. (Just as I type this, the sky is rumbling with thunder – so dramatic! I send a bit of those rumbles your way, for fun:)
      Thank you and your generous heart!
      xo! m

      • ptero9 August 13, 2014 at 2:27 pm #

        Dear Marga,

        I too, have been off doing other things, some frivolously fun, like attending baseball games, trail running and just being outdoors.

        The beauty of enduring friendship is feeling the presence of all those who touch us when we are not actively engaged. I feel that with you and others in this wonderful blog community along with other friends who I am not physically near anymore.

        I love your poems and the raw passion with which you write. Sometimes I feel that I may be on the verge of a poem, but they’re not coming through just yet.

        We were supposed to have some of that thunder last night, but nothing more than a few rumblings. It’s just as well as I was outside watching the Volcanoes minor league baseball team play. I’m glad you got to enjoy some of the storminess.


    • ~meredith August 24, 2014 at 1:40 pm #

      Seconded… without an other word. Again. (Does this mean ‘thirded,’ now? Such beautiful expression I’m here in this olace too often to remember.)

      And oh… well, I love you dearly. ~m

      • marga t. August 24, 2014 at 2:49 pm #

        Infinitely returning loop, ~m, for your giving of love and acceptance creates another why of cry (for joy). love returned and circling back, again and again. xo! m

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