Artificial Tears

The artificial tears come in a small white pot. I am to apply them twice a day. I put the small white pot on the counter. Next to the pestle. The chopper. The packets and bags. It was kind of him to try. To try and make me comfortable. To try and give me something to unwrap the puzzle of my face. The heat makes me sweat. Sat on the kitchen floor. Looking at my row of possibilities. Thinking how I could use the tears to become like those sobbing ladies who lower their heads and weep into a plastic cup of water. They cry tears that aren’t real. But everybody believes. They hold their hand. Rub their shoulder. Nothing much to figure out. No puzzle. No sloping eye or silence. I look at the small white pot. Read the ingredients. Could cause irritation. I know the tears could turn nasty. Like everything turns nasty. I lie on the tiles. Feel the pressure in my chest. Pass hands over flesh. Knead what skin is left. There is salt and water in there. I can feel it. I want to pour it from my eyes. My mouth. Collect it in a cup and show you. Look. Look. I can cry too. But it scares me. If these tears escape their little pot I will never cease.