The Tear Collector

When one is sad
they look for some reasons to be glad.
So I make them.

I craft the wings,
of dragonflies and the birds that sing  
Summertime hymns.

I mold flowers,
petals that soak up April showers.
With emerald stems

I make the gift,
drop-shaped pendant, sealed with a kiss.
More than a gem.

Tears I collect
when dried they have a better effect:
Sadness amends.

My workmanship
Because sadness repurposed is bliss,
Which then I send.

A teardrop form
That is the sign of my own support.
Means to an end.

Dry tears of pain
Look for my repurposed aid
...No, look again.

Oh, see? Under us.
A dragonfly in the bottlebrush.
...Feel better, friend?

Meredith Wyrick

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All poems are copyrighted 2019 by their respective authors and may not be used elsewhere without their express permission.