Is she crying?
(Breath catching.) I see tears—are they “real”?

It doesn’t matter. (I can replicate the breath/body mechanics of weeping. It is not “real.” And it is.)

Messy pile of clothespins. Sculpted into an arch. Tended. Untended.

She may be fooling me. The clothespins invite me to imagine an idle, unscripted moment.
But, perhaps she planned to arrange them all along.

(And I think of clothespins and women’s work and the work of women’s tears.)
It doesn’t matter. Breath catches. And I am more open, more vulnerable, more available to the whole of the life of an other.

—Lisa Jackson-Schebetta, Associate Professor, Theater

From the exhibition: Where Words Falter: Art and Empathy (July 9 – December 18, 2022)