Happy pieces holding hands, happy in duress.
I understand their smiles, why they curl with mirth.
Happy pieces hanging out, happy in the group.
I hear them when they move, baking in the sun.
Happy pieces stringing words, happy down on paper.
I dunno why they frolic, what they want of me.
Happy pieces come to me, happy in conception.
But they darken, tainted through, just a touch from me.
So now I’ve weathered the holidays, a frantic time, a time of cold memories, but of warm relations. So different from the years of yore. Back then, my heart was of cracked ice, whose flavor was incomparably bitter, whose complexion was sallow and wilted. My life was buried in the snow.
So now I’ve weathered the holidays, a testing time, full of grinning patience, of trying tolerance, of sheer reality. Yes, I’ve pushed on through. I’ve gained the insight; I’ve been exhumed. No need to fill the void this year. I feel stability pulsing within, from a center I never knew I had, causing me to turn inward when I encounter ugliness.
I know what I am, and I am one peg higher. The holidays have passed through me like a wave, and my skin has grown tighter. But don’t compliment me yet; don’t let it go to my head.
