My Event Poem

I’m not sure I believe in happiness as it implies to me a singularity of state of being. It feels maybe like happiness doesn’t permit alongside nervousness or mourning or having a sore foot. And that somehow it isn’t worth as much if it doesn’t last, that it is less for being fleeting as all experience is.

I prefer joy. Joy that bubbles up from any corner at all. Joy that might invade community weaving themselves together for a beloved daughter’s funeral or burst from a song deeply attended to that leaves nothing the same. Joy that stumbles from an encounter of penetrating recognition of shared humanity in the eyes of a stranger, student or loved one. Or from freshly washed dishes and a clean counter after a big meal.

Watching birds bathe gives me joy. Have you ever watched, wade in past the knees, glance furtively about, duck the head, and rise. Water slivers cool down the back, repeat! In, out, beat the wings. Water splashes everywhere! Oh yes, joy at watching birds bathe.

At a conference once, a colleague opened our conversation, so are you happy? For me, I might prefer, what weights you and how does joy find you?

Here is my attempt!

The Worm Survives

I am a worm, dirt eating

air crawling, I am earth

and heaven’s chewed path

I am a body, each luscious

segment seized by soup,

waters that will not

be parted or breathed

I am a poem, lost

in operatic aria

on sidewalk’s tight,

illusional stones’ gaps,

re-entry impossible

I am a worm exiled

by ghastly flood,

to exaggerate, a request

for self-parody