“Happiness is fickle” and “Dear Woman”

By Lynn Wolfe

happiness is fickle

just yesterday i was laughing, dancing in the sun,

feeling excited about the future.

i didn’t think about you.

now today, that happiness has been washed away

along with the salty sea foam.

watching you dance, i lose my rhythm,

fall to the ground,

skin my knees.

not wanting to appear childish,

i hold back tears, but

inside, i am weeping.

not even paradise can fill this void,

not even the balm of warm saltwater can soothe

this wound.

this all started when i read your letter again.

short,

concise,

cold.

a jumble of emotionless words.

translation: hurry along now. your time is up. stop bothering me, i’m trying to live my life.

and i feel like a dirty old rag doll

replaced by shiny new toys.

i was so foolish to think i was special

to someone who is

ever

so

fickle.

____

Dear Woman

You are not a saint of stone

with a frozen countenance;

flesh and blood and brain and bone

compose the weight of your substance.

You are not a static object

unbound by natural laws; you’ll find

that like an unfolding artistic project

you are transformed by the renewing of your mind.

Consider the lilies — are any the same —

mass-produced one-by-one, bit-by-bit, line-by-line?

Does disciplined effort to conform and to tame

compare to the beauty of the divine?

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