joy arrives and
departs like hummingbird,
in short,
rapid bursts. duration,
a meager measure
of delight.
you get in your car after walking
back from the store.
your upbringing mandates
you park near oceans
away from any desired
entrance; save proximity
for those who suffer on
shaky legs. the short walk
in the long cold, arrives you
to your car singing in frost.
you start the car and turn
the heat up, a few minutes and
revolutions per later, a pinprick
of joy.
in this case, more
of a thumbprint, as heat escapes
from engine to vent to pore.
doesn’t that feel good? warmth
on singing skin? isn’t this
joy?
or maybe you don’t
have a car and you have to walk
to the store from an even further ocean
away. but you have
woolen socks and pants,
a long sleeve shirt, even
a coat filled with insulation!
if you have a hood in which to
burrow, and your shoes still maintain
traction, well, you have
a short yelp of joy. feel
your legs under your torso,
your head atop it all. look
at that view! your body is
encased in protective layers!
ok, now remember how
you screamed at your
mother/lover/brother/friend?
remember the guilt or shame or
piggish righteousness you
felt? where’s
the joy in that?
while hot shower provides
quick calm, you begin
to sing. your throat,
rasp’d and husk’d, what
with all that screaming
you did. and in this wavering
wake, the postscript
to your joyless rage, you find yourself
in brief possession of
a singing voice
you’ve never had, the smokey erotic
voice of Memphis and Chicago and
rocking chair’d porch. less grandma
and more .44 in a shoulder holster.
is this not joy?
to open your ragged
throat, and let it
sing the blues?
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