after Alison Stone
I listen to the anguish in his voice. I cry.
His tears, meant for his sick love, I cry.
A friend’s success shutters the larva in my heart.
Congratulations! I cry.
The storm leaves somewhere-else in utter devastation.
I am both relieved and grieved. I cry.
I see the bloody fingers, broken fingernails
of an unbearable climb, and I cry.
I am present at the funeral for a friend,
then side-glance that of a stranger. At both, I cry.
A teenage son is pulled under by the first swell
of love. His tears only well, but I cry.
You ask me if I think I might love you.
I do, I say, thinking so, then I cry.
You ask me if I think we might be soul mates.
I do not, I say, breaking you, and I cry.
I am attended by my unworthiness.
I bow the dreadful weight of my head and I cry.
My head is lifted by the hand of grace
and, learning that I have been deemed worthy, I cry.
Underneath a Cross, I pause and kneel; recite
words of surrender. When I hear my lie, I cry.
Thomas Locicero’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Roanoke Review, Boston Literary Magazine, Long Island Quarterly, The Good Men Project, Adelaide Literary Magazine, Jazz Cigarette, Quail Bell Magazine, Rat’s Ass Review, Antarctica Journal, Scarlet Leaf Review, Tipton Poetry Journal, Hobart, Ponder Review, vox poetica, Poetry Pacific, Brushfire Literature & Arts Journal, Indigo Lit, Saw Palm, Fine Lines, and New Thoreau Quarterly, among other journals. He resides in Broken Arrow, OK.