Daddy, where do tears come from?

Floored and reduced
Once more
My ignorance on show
Knowing, yet not knowing
Wondering about my words

I look at my child
With a sigh

Through eyes
Like dams holding back
The knowing
The deep waters
Surge tides of grief
Thunderstorms of love
And of the last straws
Before the breaking

Bent double with pain
Stomach cramping
Unbreathing sobs
Forehead pressed into the floor
Fist-pounding sorrow
Loss poured out

With a deep breath
I am ready to say little

But she is after facts
That’s all
Like lego pieces
To click together, or collect
Like sweets in a jar
Or the funny words inside her head
She’s after Daddy
To help her with the lego
That’s all

But we know different:

Tears are manufactured:
An instant recipe
A dash of salt, some oils
Antiseptic mucins
Lacrimal glands responding
Double time
Desperately crying ‘Yes Chef!’
To the voice cursing and urging
Defeated by beauty or rage
Or touch;
Gentleness breaking every man

Plated up. Poured.

That’s where tears come from

I look at my child
She’s two now
Will be three in the summer
So I tell her everything
She likes ‘lacrimal’
And ‘Yes Chef!’
And shouts Yes Chef!
All through the day
Not a tear in sight.