we spent the evening
all of the evening
going to bed
but rather than get up as soon as I thought I could
I laid there with Roxanne and Rumi, listening to the rain patter against the roof
and staring out through the balcony doors at the elm trees backlit against the
city-light-amber sky
time
clung crept and creaked
slowly by
while all my heartaches seeped out
and covered me like a fluffy, grayed
blanket of woolen smoke
and it was as though I wept
while staying dry
outside and in
tangled in the blankets, sheets, stuffed animals
without making a sound
and it was as though I wept
somewhere I could not find
the cares for friends that I’ve missed, knowing that they are in distress
the sadness of a two-year old who’s not seen her father enough today
the loneliness of a mother, near but far away
the struggle
for joy
when all is really so well, so rich, so well.
when all is not so well, so rich, so safe, so rich, so privileged, so well
for so many
no different from me
here, dryly not weeping in tears
not so very different from us, father, mother, friend, daughter
struggling for joy
in this rich lap of life
how strange.
for that I cry