A Closely Held Shot - Feb 22 2026

 

A Closely Held Shot

Feb 22 2026

Even a bad actor

can cry for the camera

almost on command. 

It’s as if there is a deep well of sadness

we all carry within us

filled with salty tears.

That you can lean over a low stone wall

and peer down into the blackness,

drop a stone

and hear it splash 

too close to catch the echo.

Then those times

in a stiff wind

or when dust gets in your eye.

Or the trick of ersatz tears

as an actor’s last resort,

turning her face

and plucking a hair from her nose.

I wonder

are such tears different?

Lighter and more distilled

than tears of true distress?

When I said I don’t cry

I meant not in public.

When I said I can’t remember 

the last time I cried

you should have known it was a lie.

And unlike an actor reciting her lines 

there’s no script for this.

The tears well up, and can’t be stopped,

tears

begetting tears

until you rub your eyes raw,

the taste of salt

has turned to caustic brine.

On screen, a single tear will do,

a wetness welling up

in the corner of her eye

reflecting the light,

then running down her cheek

in a closely held shot.

Like a great poet

who has taken to heart that less is more,

a stoic

who lets a moment of self-pity show.

I was watching something on TV last night, and the beautifully measured restraint of this shot came to me:  a single tear, welling up sand running down her cheek.

I thought how hard it must be to cry on command:  reliving your greatest hurt, then being asked to go there again and again on extra takes and set-ups, especially considering that you’re surrounded by cameras, lights, and crew. Perhaps even harder than simulating sex on a cold stage with people looking on! Yet even kid actors do it.

The first few lines came out of the blue last night as I watched. When I remembered them the next day, I wrote the rest of it.