holy tears

been weepin since i was young
cried at the telly set when
the kids wouldn't let the
rabbit have trix
trix aren't for rabbits
they said
and they meant it
and it was injustice
and i knew it
when i was little
and injustice made me weep

now it makes me rage
and rage only lasts a minute
before it turns into sorrow
and once again i find myself
crying in a public place
on the T, on the bus, walking
home listening to a song
i like a little too much
or the sound of my
grandmother's voice
on the phone in boston
telling me about where they
went to lunch that day
before the symphony
and how they wished
i was there to enjoy
our favorite asian
noodles together
again

the sister whose name
i never learned
but who wore vibrant
purple and blue habits
and who seemed ancient
and young and  was wise
and raw and honest
and loved me dearly
the instant she met me
somehow
i didn't know why
exactly
but sitting on the pew
she wiggled one finger toward me
and gestured that i should
take the place beside her
into her outstretched arm
she held me there, close
and tight, to look me right in my
eyes, and softly tell me
some of the most wonderful
and strange things
anyone i've ever just met
that day has told me

the second time, she came
striding into my classroom with
a folio folder and started giving
me lesson materials to teach french
but i teach music and i wasn't sure she
knew that, but she did, she wants me
to teach french too, someday,
if they need it, she says,
'because you love to speak
french', she said, 'you love it
and so one day you should
teach it too, so they have that love'
'and you know, my friend', she said,
'anyone who loves to speak french,
i love and loves me
so we are dear friends already.'
And that was that.

finally one day, she spoke to me
about emotions, and how music opens
up students to experiencing
these vulnerable feelings
and how some may cry
and she hoped i would love
that about them
that i would honor their tears
'tears, are a gift from God.'
She said to me, and
promptly, i began to cry.
Just a little.
But she noticed.

One more tight hug,
closely whispered french words
of adoration and affirmation,
and she left, for Houston,
to do more good work,
and to make more friends
with the love of French,
with the love of children,
with the love,
of God.

I cried a little, to see Sister go.