These Things make me Happy

An
impromptu
Oscar
party.
A
mother
calling
to
tell
me
that
I
was
doing
good
work.
Sun
that
holds
some
warmth.
Longer
days.
Earlier
mornings.
A
friend's
joke.
He
had
gone
into
have
a
procto
exam
and
as
the
doctor
inserted
his
finger
he
started
singing,
"Oh,
sweet
mystery
of
life
I've
finally
found
you."
Finding
out
that
the
one's
whose
kiss
lingered
vanished
because
he
was
intimidated
by
my
looks.
Flattering
but
still
baffling.
Postcards
from
San
Francisco.
Two
weeks
until
Palm Springs
and
warm
bones.
All
of
you
who
open
up
your
arms.
My
friend
Linda
turns
50.
The
one
whose
soul
is
more
beautiful
than
ever.
The
banana
cream
pie
I
am
making.
Greta.
My
beautiful
parents.
Secret
thoughts.
And
the
promise
of
new
growth.

long awaited spring

It
was
the
kind
of
day
whose
sun
held
promise.
The
breeze
attempted
to
carry
spring.
The
kind
of
day
that
as
a
boy
I
would
go
exploring.
I would
let
entire
days
escape
exploring
the
ravine
behind
our
house.
It
held
years
of
disgarded
items
too
big
to
deal
with
in
any
other
fashion.
Old
Model
Ts,
and
gigantic
Buicks,
and
a
ramshackle
of
people's
desire
for
materials
past
along
to
the
elements.
For
a
boy
who
had
just
read
Boxcar
Children
they
seemed
like
palaces
of
escape.
There
was
to,
of
course,
nature
to
be
found.
Orange
fungus
glowing
against
black
Oak.
In
the
summer
I
would
run
through
it
naked.
As
a
boy,
on
a
day
like
this,
I
would
go
exploring.
Here's
to
hoping
I
still
am.

on this day

I
had
it
all
planned.
On
this
day,
first
thing,
I
would
open
up
a
fortune
cookie-
I
had
been
given
a
bag
for
my
birthday-
and
the
fortune
would
become
this
wonderful
posting.
I
ended
up
opening
three.
The
first
fortune
read,
"You
will get
an
offer
that
will
be
hard
to
refuse."
The
second,
"Travelling
to
the
east
will
bring
you
rewards."
And
finally,
"You
soon
will
have
your
moment
in
glory."
I'll
stick
with
that
one.

Greta is getting older

Greta
is
getting
noticeably
older.
Her
left
eye
is
red-
grey
with
a
cataract.
She
has
trouble
with
the
bottom
two
stairs.
Becoming
unsure
of
herself
in
old
age.
Her
hip
sometimes
shifts
and
gives
out
and
she
skids
on
wooden
floors.
When
we
first
got
her
she
could
be
held
in
the
palm
of
your
hand.
She
was
always
sweet.
So
loving.
She
still
runs
and
plays
as
if
still
in
her
youth.
But
we're
not.
She
is
a
constant
comfort.
Pushing
her
weight
into
me
at
night
as
we
sleep.
Seeking
warmth.
And
lieing
at
the
foot
of
the
couch
as
I
watch
TV.
Always
having
to
have
some
part
of
her
touching
me.
Some
part
of
her
touching
me.
Some
part
of
her
touching
me.