Her tears roll swift –

hot harbingers of head-aches to come,

they puddle-ize her.

She fears that if they keep falling,

there will be nothing left to call her own,

no stamp on her collar to remind her

whose she is

or where she came from

or what she should call herself

at a party.

But tears are

gems;

to a seasoned Collector,

they are mermaid-magical,

gathered lovingly in a bottle

and counted.

When store is sufficient,

they will be returned,

Narnian Elixir,

potion powerful enough

to reconstitute the Walking Dead.

So cry, precious heart –

tears are

gems.