As it is, I would rather be
a something else today. A vine
or a wind or a crocus leaping
purple-ish and fragile out of the earth.
Or rather to be the bulb that did not
come up. No one to please and no one
to disappoint and keenly unaware
of so much misery. I am not suggesting
that today is not a blessing.
I do not mean to be ungrateful
for this precious, amazing life.
There are plenty of reasons to fall
in love with the world today, including
the wind, the crocus, the bulbs and the
hands that planted them, but I
am too tired for falling in love,
and my pockets are full of sadnesses.
Which is perhaps, another reason
to fall in love with the world,
the fact that I have pockets at all,
only it’s very quiet. And resembles
a bruise. And very not what
I thought love was. I would curl
into a corner, but no corner
is small enough. There is always
more space. And every wall
becomes a mirror. And every
sorrow seems to smile at me
with gentle eyes and say,
it isn’t what you thought
it was now, is it?