One hint of abandonment
and the same six traumas,
one mean joke
and the same six traumas,
one call with family
and the same six traumas,
one day without nutrition
and the same six traumas,
one drink too many
and the same six traumas,
one bad dream
and the same six traumas,
one hand in the wrong place
and the same six traumas.
When I’m ready to vomit
at the persistence of those
same six traumas,
I remember I can count them
on my fingers and six of anything
can be disarmed, made harmless
in the light of my
innumerable joys—
the smooth flight
of a new bike chain,
the fluid cursive
of a lover’s letter,
the third coffee
of a wide open day,
the light steps taken
in new running shoes,
the heavy canvas bags
after the farmers’ market,
the secondhand watch
that keeps perfect time,
the unexpected warmth
of a late winter afternoon,
the cold floral mist
of an early spring morning,
the new, green leaf
of a yellowing houseplant,
the glass of cold water
when the body is only asking
for cold water,
the full glass of wine
on a morning bedside table
because sleep came easily,
the complete relief
of four continuous minutes
with a quiet mind,
the deep sleep that turns
anxiety into understanding,
the right words that come
when they’re needed,
the makeshift bridge across
a hidden forest creek…
(To be continued
indefinitely.)