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Where Do My Tears Go? ©

Barbara Estrada
California, USA
2005

As I dry my six year old sonís eyes,
after he fell and skinned his knee,
with my white tissue.
He looks up and asks,
where do my tears go?
I pick him up in my lap and said these tears go to haven,
to God,
so he can spread them over the world,
to make the grass grow,
so when another child falls,
he has a softer landing.

When my son was seventeen,
he had his first heart break and tears streamed down his face,
while he sat on the porch swing.
I sat near him and dried his tears with my dish towel.
He looked at me and asked, where do those tears go?
I replied,
they return to heaven,
to God,
my dear son.
God spread thems over the world,
to a lake,
by a beautiful park where you will bring your new love some day,
to ask her to be your wife.

When my son was twenty nine,
his first child was born,
a beautiful little girl.
He turned to me as I walked into the hospital room.
Tears rolled from his eyes,
as he held his little princess.
I dried his tears with my handkerchief.
He asked with a smile,
where do those tears go?
I smiled at my grown son,
and replied,
they go to heaven,
to God.
He spreads them over the world,
to mist over the spring morning,
welcoming new beginnings.

Years later as I lie in bed feeling cold and weak.
My son bends over me and tears fall from his face to my cheek
as he kisses me good bye.
He asks,
with a solemn look on his face,
where do those tears go?
I said,
looking up at him,
Iím bringing them to heaven my son.
Iím giving them to God;
he will spread them over the world,
for the roses to grow in your beautiful garden,
so you will think of me when they bloom.

A man runs to pick up his youngest son,
after he falls.
He dries his sonís tears with a white tissue.
His son asked,
looking up,
where do my tears go?
The man looks at his blooming yellow roses,
smiles,
and replies they go to heaven,
to God,
to Grandma.



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