I was sitting next to her
and she was just crying. Crying and crying.
We were sitting in the dark theater
watching a play about slavery,
Father Comes Home from the Wars,
and at certain inexplicable moments,
she would just cry.

Or even, her arms would flail. Uncontrollably.

And out of the corner of my eye,
So as not to make her, stranger, uncomfortable,
I tried to see who she was.
To sneak a peek at her and see if that might explain it.
There in the theater, I had a wholly separate saga than what was unfolding on the stage:
A different show, with a different message;
I tried to understand why
I too, was not moved to tears,
Why, or how, some of us can feel so much,
While others of us just feel so still,
Whether there was something wrong with me,
Or missing from my experience,
To not feel life so thinly.

When the show ended, I stood up and zipped my coat. And then I left. I never looked at her.