When I cannot
offer you this most
simple blessing,
it’s because I’ve
forgotten
for this moment
who I am.
I remember now.
Child of sunrise.
Beloved of the rain.
Sibling of silence.
Lost one who rows
through oceans of stars.
Found one who
has been forgiven
when forgiveness
seemed impossible.
What I mean to say—
I am grouchy.
Still. I am trying.
What I mean to say—
cursing the drought
has never once
made it rain.
What I mean to say—
may you be happy.
Posts Tagged ‘happiness’
May You Be Happy
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged blessing, fussy, happiness on April 29, 2026| 4 Comments »
For Now
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged contentment, daughter, happily ever after, happiness, love, mother, movie, music, story on June 5, 2025| Leave a Comment »
Driving home from the movie,
our blood still charged with adrenaline,
my daughter and I move through
the dark just under the speed limit,
our eyes trained on the red taillights
in front of us, and we talk about plot holes
and how we would change the ending.
Neither of us would have chosen happily
ever after, which somehow felt false
to the greater story. It’s not long before
we’re singing along to her favorite song.
I harmonize on the chorus, and
a “Peaceful Easy Feeling” grows in me
as we drive through pouring rain.
I may not believe in happily ever after,
but I do believe in content for now,
as in this moment when she reaches
for my hand and I slide mine into hers.
I can’t see her face in the dark, but
in her voice, I can hear it, her smile.
Still Life on My Mother’s Birthday
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged family, happiness, moment, moon, painting, puzzle, time on November 15, 2024| 9 Comments »
In the painting no one did,
we don’t see the Beaver Moon,
but it is there, full and shining
on the other side of the earth.
What we do see, as if from a bird’s
eye view: the hands of three
generations of women hovering
above a square wood table.
They hold bright puzzle pieces,
and beneath their fingers, a vibrant garden
has begun to emerge.
What we don’t see is the light
and gauzy conversation—the kind
that swoops, swallow-like, through
the field of the moment, the kind
that swerves and lifts, suggesting a space
unconstrained by straight edges.
In the painting no one did, the garden
is always blooming, the hands never age,
nothing sad ever happens,
the candles on the cake, also not pictured,
are never blown out, the banter
never ends, and like the unseen moon,
the love is there, reflecting, radiant,
shining beyond the frame.
The Choosing
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged authenticity, connection, daughter, grief, happiness, intimacy, love, mother, vulnerability on May 25, 2024| 10 Comments »
Perhaps I no longer believe in happiness
as the goal. Not that I am against happiness,
but being in this very uncomfortable moment
with little light and a vicious chill, my arms wrapped
around my growing girl, both our hearts breaking
from sorrow and fear, both of us too well aware
of what can be lost, well, I would not trade this moment
for any wide-grinned hour of beach and sun,
wouldn’t rather be anywhere else with anyone—
I would choose again and again to be here
on the dark sidewalk with my girl in my arms,
our hearts so raw, the space between us so warm.
For Easter
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged daughter, dawn, easter, eggs, happiness, joy on March 31, 2024| 4 Comments »
We drop six small,
bright-colored tabs
into six glass cups.
Add vinegar. Water.
And my girl and I
make plaid eggs
and striped eggs
and eggs painted
with feathery strokes.
We sing along to country
songs, and joy colors me
like dawn colors sky,
a beauty so fleeting,
but while it lasts,
it lights the whole world.
The Day You Took My Picture Was the Day
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged being with, happiness, pond, stillness on March 9, 2024| 7 Comments »
I sat by the pond and watched
the blue dragonflies land
on slender green reeds.
And the sun was warm and
the air was still as I was still,
which is to say the air pulsed
with aliveness and so did I.
If someone could see the picture
from that day, they might think
I was sad. No slip of a smile
touches my lips. My glance
is far off, unfocused.
But I was in a place beyond
happiness, a place of being with,
a place that asks nothing of me
except that I forget everything
but sitting beside the pond
and marveling at blue dragonflies
as they weave and land,
the reeds so slender, so green.
Falling All the Way In
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged daughter, eternity, happiness, moment, mother, tenderness on January 2, 2024| 7 Comments »
Late, and I lie on the couch,
my head in mom’s lap,
eyelids heavy as she pulls
slender fingers through my hair,
and I am more loved
than lost, more soft
than strong, more flesh
than worry, more no self
than self. I am not
thinking of happiness,
which is, perhaps,
the truest kind of happiness.
The moment loses any lines
that might try to define
what a moment is
until all is suffused with eternity
and tenderness is uncontainable.
Her hands move slow
and the room is quiet
and the night is a nest
big enough to hold us all.
Father’s Day, 2021
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged father's day, happiness, memory, music on June 18, 2023| 3 Comments »
That was the year our small family
strolled the closed-off streets
in Ridgway and listened
to mariachi and country
and a fabulous upright bass.
And my son was at ease,
my daughter content
my husband smiling.
And I remember thinking,
Remember this.
Two years later, I remember
my joy in the moment
now tethered to me like a shadow.
I remember sun warm on our backs.
I remember even then knowing
happiness doesn’t last.
I remember telling myself,
sweetheart, remember.
And I remember. It’s so beautiful
it hurts. I remember.
Leonids
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dark, death, grief, happiness, meteor, shooting star, walk on November 30, 2022| 4 Comments »
Since you died, every shooting star is you.
Not a sign, exactly, more like a reminder
you came into my life brilliant and brief.
More like a reminder to say your name out loud.
As if I don’t already say your name out loud
at least a dozen times a day.
Tonight while walking in the cold
I saw two shooting stars,
and it reminded me of a warmer night
when you and your sister and I
stretched our bodies side by side
on the cool pavement and stared up at the sky
hoping for meteors.
Did we see any? I don’t recall.
I only remember how happy I was then.
A small bit of that happiness
reaches through the loss.
It takes me by the hand,
walks with me through the dark.
When I Need to Remember
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged breathing, happiness, lake, swimming on July 10, 2021| Leave a Comment »
Tucked in my mind’s back pocket
is that evening when I ran full speed
off the end of the pier
and leapt fully dressed into the water.
The air in my clothes buoyed me for a moment
before swirling around me like a purple bloom—
and the heavy sun was orange and low,
and the water held me, refreshed me,
stole my breath for a moment,
then gave me back the gift of my breath,
only deeper, fuller, a bloom in my body.
Oh the freedom—how easy it felt to be alive,
to be afloat, to be enwombed by the world.
Everything felt right. Everything felt yes.
Sometimes, like now, when worry polishes my thoughts,
I dip a toe into that pocket and feel the splash on my skin,
hear the water lapping against the buoys, the pier.
Sometimes, like now, I jump in and swim there
long enough that when I return to this chair, this room,
I find the faint lake scent lingering in my hair,
my face still wet.
Respite
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged fear, happiness, path on May 13, 2021| Leave a Comment »
The day
passed
from wing
to wing,
a bright
and feathered
offering,
a path
paved
in wordless
song,
and
fear
forgot
to tag
along.
One Marvelous Evening
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged happiness, sky on July 10, 2020| 4 Comments »
With the Long Sleeves that Can Be Worn Closed or Open
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged clothes, happiness, inside job on February 12, 2020| 2 Comments »
I keep staring at it in the catalog at the Ametist linen/modal dress,
in amethyst, a linen shirt dress the catalog describes
as “wonderfully forgiving.” Well, that sounds good, of course.
And the dress, with its shimmering linen, its turquoise
and aubergine flowers, well, it’s beautiful. And perhaps
because I do not feel beautiful, I stare at it as if
it has a secret I need woven into its threads, as if I could buy it
and then be as happy as the model who is walking
through a sunlit field with a large bouquet of long-stemmed
dusky penstemon in her hand. She looks over her shoulder
as if there is someone or something there that delights her,
as surely everything does when she is wearing
her amethyst Ametist linen/modal dress with its “generous fit.”
Perhaps I would rather not remember that I must
be the one who is generous, I must be the one who
is “wonderfully forgiving.” Easier to imagine slipping into a dress
and letting the fabric do all the work. Harder to remember
that beauty is less about how we look and more about
the way we choose to see. Oh, to buy that dress
so that I might notice how little joy it really brings me.
Is this the way we meet the self? Through disappointment?
I decide to make my own catalog. Of my clothes.
I walk through the kitchen, modeling my yoga pants
and a fuzzy top pretending I am me
walking through the kitchen in my yoga pants and fuzzy top.
It’s not much of a stretch. I smile over my shoulder
at the tea pot, the dishes that need washing, a lunch box.
And why not smile? Perhaps there’s a secret I need
woven into something here—in the stack of mail,
in the charging cord, in the marker, the dish towel—
some chance for delight, something beautiful waiting
if only I choose to see the shimmer.
At the Butch Cassidy Nordic Skate Race
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged happiness, nordic skiing, race on February 8, 2020| 2 Comments »
I love entering a race with no chance of winning—
so easy to keep a smile on my face, to remember
I am doing this for the love of it, easy to focus
on the color of the sky, the cold scent of snow,
the thrill of the arms as they pump and release.
It’s the same reason I love going to high school plays
or middle school volleyball games or eating potato chips.
There’s a thrill, of course, in the best—but oh, the joy
of wearing a soft sweatshirt on a Saturday, of finding yourself
on the tenth kilometer of fifteen, grateful for five more k.
On the Eve of My 50th Birthday
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged happiness, night, poem, poetry on November 2, 2019| 5 Comments »
I wake up happy, as if the happiness
were already seeded before I woke.
As if all I have to do to love the day
is breathe. So I breathe. And love
meets me right where I am.
There are days we know we are lucky—
lucky just to wake. Perhaps it’s because
we have known dismal days when
just rising felt like strike three.
But today,I rise with happiness as present
as the dark before the dawn—not
because I deserve it, but because
it’s as natural as the milky way
spilled across the sky, as
normal as the night itself
stretched out like a blanket
to warm the sleeping world.
And Oh, the Stars Then
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged bowling, happiness, poem, poetry on January 30, 2019| Leave a Comment »
And who could explain why tonight
a bowling alley opened up inside my heart
and an invisible hand kept sending the ball down
the lane and it was strike after strike after strike.
The gutters, so empty, decided to get up
and play, too, and we all drank a beer
and toasted to the way strange things happen.
Oddly enough, I was chopping carrots and kale
this whole time, and could not help myself
from feeling as if I should celebrate.
Outside, the tips of the mesas
were pink, fleeting, of course, but it left
an indelible stamp on me, and meanwhile,
as the yellow onions made me cry,
the sound of ten pins crashing down
came again and again
and again, and I just
couldn’t shake this feeling
that something wonderful was happening,
the scent of garlic filling the room, the sky
turning gray, turning black.
Surprise
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged happiness, poem, poetry, sacrifice on August 16, 2018| Leave a Comment »
Climbing higher
than you thought
you could
to the top
of something
you don’t understand
to leave a sacrifice
of more than
you thought
you could give,
it’s enough
to make you
wildly alive,
perhaps
even happy.
January 8, 2018
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged happiness, poem, poetry, prohibition, sake on January 5, 2018| 2 Comments »
A hundred years ago today
Mississippi became the first state
to ratify the eighteenth amendment,
the prohibition of alcohol.
And as I sip my sake,
I toast them—
not because I think
they were right,
but because I have a glass
in my hand and the sake
is dry and cool, tastes
of plum and pear,
and I am in the mood
to drink to everyone,
to our health, to our bliss,
to our rights to our own opinions,
and to whatever it is in us
that makes us believe
that we might do something
to make the world
more wonderful,
misguided and lost
though we are.
Studying Spanish with My Son
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged adjectives, happiness, language, poem, poetry on December 20, 2017| Leave a Comment »
We begin with simple words.
Fat. Ugly. Good. Tall.
Gordo. Feo. Bueno. Alto.
How odd to break the world
into adjectives—
how human this longing
to describe a thing,
as if to explain it is to know it.
Easy. Big. Blonde.
Facil. Grande. Rubio.
I imagine a language
where instead of delineating
how different we are,
it had only shades of sameness.
Would we still find ways
to fight? To judge? To grade
and order and assess?
What if it were only ever a day—
not a good day, not a bad day,
just a day. And the woman—
not a fat woman, not a blonde woman,
just a woman—moved through that day
and met a man. Would they
be happier if they didn’t live
happily ever after, if they just lived,
their hearts not even knowing
you could fill in all that lovely silence
with adjectives and adverbs—
it would rain sometimes.
And the flowers would bloom.
Dinner would be served.
They would look in the mirror and smile.
Dinner Party at the Winery
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged happiness, poem, poetry on September 3, 2017| Leave a Comment »
Because you didn’t show up in sequins,
your friend walks you into her closet
and pulls out the low-cut black and white number
with sequins and beadwork and scalloped sleeves.
Nothing to do then but say thank you
and slip into it, say yes to the wine
as it’s offered, say yes to the disco ball
and the surging beat, say yes to the night
and the happiness that catches you off guard.
You won’t be able to keep it, no, but
for a while it’s possible to be so content
you forget to ask for more.