November 5, 2024
 |  30 Comments

I stare into the early darkness of a thick cloud cover,
overwhelmed by absence of joy
at this point
and had done nothing to help,
it’s a strange feeling, it’s milky in color
and resembles dirty dishwater.
Is this really happening, and if yes, then
why and what must be done,
are just few of the questions that
flood the mind—
somewhere, in the middle, of it all I seem to hover.

At precisely fifteen minutes past eleven the phone
rings,
when a friend calls me and heartbeat slows,
he is a man of sunshine, smiles,
and eyes that change from brown to hazel
and every color
in between, a bureau of magical things,
soon the conversation turns lively
and I find myself rising
out of the doldrums, how is it
that the thought of calling him didn’t occur before?

Were this my only flaw I would have let
it rest,
I am human, so naturally despair is
more often than not close enough to smell
my musk and feel my heat,
he speaks of mountains surrounded
by evergreen trees
whose branches are heavy with snow,
so fortunate am I,
so much in return of kindness I owe,
the pale glow of the moon shines through
the uncurtained window,
his comments are simple but moving and make
me won­der why
I was stressed in the first place.

How is it that the thought of calling him
didn’t occur before,
I wonder as out of the doldrums I rise,
the conversation, still lively, continues for
an hour or two,
he is a man of sunshine, smiles, and eyes
that change from brown to hazel
and every color in between,
a bureau of magical things,
my heart races and slows, when precisely
at fifteen minutes past eleven the phone rings,
it’s incredible,
how much joy talking to a friend, brings.

 

 

 

Photo credits: Pinterest 

Merril hosts at dVerse where she invites us to write about something that brings
us joy. Come join us! 🩷

Posted for Poetics: Choose Joy @dVerse Poets Pub