Soapbox

Grasping the Nettle

Last night as I was leaving work
promising my tired feet that they would soon be home,
I was brought up short
by the beauty of the summer twilight.
Mouth agape, I stared, captured
by the faint hint of teal in the cobalt expanse above me
and bits of apricot and amethyst
that still glimmered on the western horizon.

We are told that the key to happiness lies
in finding large joy in small things.
But those who are most open
to simple moments of absolute beauty
find that their heart,
like a drift net along the ocean's floor
gathers in all the small moments-
beauty and pain, loneliness and loss
until it is much too full.

I felt myself on the verge of tears,
rent and bleeding
wishing I could catch hold of that glowing sunset horizon
and the evening calls of birds across the still-warm asphalt
and cast it all back into the world
and out of me

Because even joy, so keenly felt
will pierce the heart
if you hold it too tightly.

And so I struggle to paint, to sing, to write it
exactly as I feel it
for only then can I release it
lest it damage me
in ways I cannot hide.

But the perfect words
fall from other tongues,
and today I leave small red fingerprints
on everything I do.