Happy

Sometimes I wish my poems were more poetic

And I think to myself that roses are red

Violets are some color

And this prose is a flavor of its own that I wish

tasted like marshmallow rocky road

but I’m lactose intolerant and my mind keeping jumping back

to the fact that this time we live in ….

who is genuinely “happy” right now?

I have joy, I hold it like a bouquet that catches my tears on days

my grief is loud

and I laugh … a lot but I don’t know if I’d say I’m

happy

No happy feels like denial for me, bypassing the burning trials

I feel awe — inspired boldly brightened, creamy with a heaping helping of love

I feel the best I can and I try not to worry too much

I think the space that happy waits for us lives in the time where we are an “us” again

I actually don’t wish my poems were more poetic

I wish that you and I and your friends and the family down the block

and the cashier at the coffee shop, and the postman, and well all of us

could be more comfortable saying hi and meeting eyes

when we walk down the street …

Day Thirteen