COMES THE JOY LATE
comes the joy late
when it comes.
(after) the last part of you, empty as the wrong end of an hourglass, broken as the china she handled with old eyes and wet hands,
inelegantly gives way
your hands, once competent and strong, empty and unfocused
what you had built, crumbled to the ground
your garden burned and barren
your heart, beating still but existing outside of your body, mere periphery
comes the joy late
when it comes
the floor is dry and everything that could have fallen has landed
Bennie with his flowers, you remember
Bennie spread joy with the flowers that grew
lived on his knees and was never alone
Different from you, you thought.
But how many degrees of separation are there between any two of us
innocent dreams, biting nightmares
heartfelt hopes and overwhelming fears
sure, you could be Bennie. Bennie could be you.
comes the joy late
when it comes
this is the opposite of that, it whispers
brushing your hair with a hand on your head
to lessen the smart
and you’ve known so much that that this thisness of this is so far from that that that
it almost hurts
It’s all inextricably tangled
point your tired finger to the sky
where shared stories started
to whippoorwill calling his own name
and say yours
to the sea, who finds the ocean every day but never finds it quite the same
[we all have been changed]
to your quiet place
And
Sit
comes the joy late
when it comes
Alison has returned to Scotland after spending two decades in the US, where she delighted in glow in the dark insects, raccoons, and cardinals. She is often found both wandering and wondering.