If tears could fix problems...
we could cry until they were all gone...

instead
with heavy choked lumps of
sad
in our throats

wishing, praying, hoping
resisting despair

problems that aren't even "mine", but they are "ours" because this isn't about me or you. The heart strings are tied, taut under my rib on my flesh to under yours and on yours. Turning my head away from you to spare myself the sight of the problems doesn't stop the hemorrhaging, the painful, jerking tug to get my attention again to watch our problems, our wreckage...