OK Google, Is It OK to Cry After LASIK?

Though– no pain
in my eyes. Society
rains hate on men
who cry. Was it
ever OK? I have
been listening to
The Magic Lantern.
His album A Reckoning
Bell is all in on release.
Standing at the podium
at my father’s funeral
I could not croak
a single coherent word
out. My family of frogs
stared at me wide-eyed
but understood before
my nine-year-old cousin
gave an impassioned
and articulate speech
about how my dad
was more his father
than his own. He works
for NASA now– a rocket
scientist. I can’t recall
ever seeing him cry,
especially at his father’s
funeral, when he was
fifteen but gave no such
impassioned speech.
Everyone but my aunt
was relieved, though
perhaps she, too, had
a kind of delayed release,
the hard stone she is. For
me, every small thing
was cause for a fountain:
soccer ball to the face;
Christine not loving
me at fourteen; tossing
a stuffed rhino named
Rambi into the light
fixture above, shattering
glass into my arms and
wrists and hands– blood
on blue bed now tiny
scars– my parents
said don’t bottle it.
The nurse hands
me a vial of artificial tears.