It’s Crying Time
Eyes up, no tears. Dad’s stage-four cancer, I thought, shouldn’t cause everyone to break down.
Crrrrryyyyyyyy babyCry baby. Cry baby. Honey, welcome back home
Could you cry a little, lie just a little, pretend that you’re feeling a little more pain
baby go on and just cry me a river
Dad is sick, this is bad
Cry, baby. Honey, welcome back home
More in this series
My eating disorder dictated my relationship to food. Then I moved to Wyoming, whose unforgiving landscape reminded me: We eat food to survive.