Happiness
Comes in like a tornado
And out like a slaughtered lamb
In an Easter morning confessional

Tornado ruthless happiness
Some universe’s breath of emotion
That sweeps you off your feet

Before any shelter can be sought
Before any walls put up
Before the fear catches up with the beauty and before you realize it even

Where you might end up

This happiness cyclone rages
In an orange-purple sky and in her eyes
Eyes you got so lost in that they made your own eyes blind

To the danger of finding what you’ve searched for
Sifting through happy moments and the masquerade among them

Amongst us…

The tornado passes by, leaving quietly and carefully, the opposite of its arrival

Happiness dissolves, returns to the earth or the universe, or somewhere humans are incapable of seeing

Even in imagination

It leaves behind pain, and fear, and memories meant to haunt you

As you are left. As you were.

With echoes of each dying lamb reminding you of the life that began and ended, almost simultaneously

Ensuring that you know well, after all, how difficult it can be to keep breathing

Michigan morning after the storm, ah but we’ve been here before, haven’t we? 

Or maybe the storm isn’t over

Maybe life is the storm, and we the raindrops scattering in the wind, helpless and aimless and bound for nowhere 

I saw a little slug on the sidewalk this storm-passed mourning

Making his way towards the grass, he told me that everything was okay

And so I stopped, anxious to listen to this new philosophy

He told me, carefully, that I was forgiven 

That slug murders happen all the time, and I should understand being misunderstood

He explained that fear wasn’t her fault, only a mere symptom of living, and that letting go didn’t mean giving up 

Often it meant moving on, as he had to do every second, with every movement, let go to move on

My slug went on to prophesize, though

He told me one day I too will make it to the other side, just as he will

Quietly with a tone that only confidence knows, he preached to me that  all life is hard, but every one is worth the journey

I am sure he saw the doubt flash across my eyes that I tried to keep a brief one

Then he recoiled, when I tried to help him, and explained that some things we just have to do alone 

He reminded me of the messages his ancestors had written out for us so long ago, the ones we could not read and I knew this meant that my ancestors had a message for me too,  I just couldn’t read it yet 

Before I could agree, the slug went on, attempting to convince me that this didn’t mean I should stop trying to learn the language

All will be revealed, he nearly proclaimed, and the universe is spinning, no doubt, exactly as it should be

As it was long before I met him on my sidewalk this morning, and long after I am an ancestor too

And so it was written, on a porch full of love amid a Baltimore summer day, lifetimes ago and last night in my dreams

I didn’t know how to thank him, so he thanked me, for listening, for allowing him to pass through 

And I can’t be sure, but I think that he was happy he had mistook the way, that Michigan mourning, that always comes after the storm