Poetry Month Day 28: There Are Worse Things

than the obvious sources of joy:

a box that arrives
out of the blue
with an armful of books
and a brainfull of ideas

or a pupper who plays,
overjoyed
with absolutely
every
single toy she can find
(especially when they squeak)

the smell of lilacs
coming to me
in odd waves
as I step out of the car
or turn the corner around the block

and some bits of joy less plain:

the kid
who originally gets the answer wrong
but makes you realize that yes,
masks can be wonderful
because they are scary
because some people have fun
in the scaring

or the teenage son
telling me I’m like cheese
or potato salad in human form
and knowing it comes
from love

because joy must be accepted
as a gift,
with both hands,
however it is dressed
or wrapped
or bagged
or handed over
or slopped on a plate

Joy,
even in its
least flattering forms,
is still joy.