Does Salt Clean? Poem by Neso Onyeuche

I cried above the sink today.
my tears could not be found
for they had joined themselves
with soapy water, stolen now.

oh, I recall how they had fell,
no faster than a kiss,
so slowly on a face that
knew no gentleness but this.

and as that thing—my face
was twisted in a pained grimace,
I drift into another place

as they fall

languid,
in no rush at all.

I wonder, did my sadness help to clean a single dish?
did that one cry cross out another session from my list?
am I any closer to a day I am myself?
if this had to happen then I really hope it helped.

later I will use those plates
and if they taste of salt,
then it's one more stupid thing I wish were not my fault.