joy: a poem

I went to the spa today.

And as I was relaxing in the steamy swirling bath, the b.u.b.b.l.e.s.,
like glaciers, parted and gathered in the corners of the tub, building their glittery molecule caverns.

I reached out. I played with them & watched their opal shades shift in the filtered sun. Iridescent bubbles in the palm of heart.

Is this joy?

What when the bubbles dissipate?

To answer this question, I looked above.

To ask this question, I looked above.

And there, creeping across the dirty skylight, dancing between the binaries of tree branch shadow and sun kissed light, was the inchworm.
He bent. Then stretched. And true to his legacy, inched forward.

Contraction. Expansion.

Inhale. Exhale.

Moving forward one cramp at a time. Progress via minuscule pinches.
Is only that one moment of infinite freedom joy? When the body is elongated & fulfilled? When the stretched soul sings like strings of a cello?

Then what of the other half of his life?

No.

No.

The moment of joy is the bend, the ache and breath and reach and bridge between, the ascending arch towards the heavens.

When he is neither here nor there. When he is both here and there.

That is joy.

The and.

2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. candidkay
    Feb 16, 2021 @ 17:45:16

    Gorgeous ending! “When he is neither here nor there. When he is both here and there.

    That is joy.

    The and.”

    Truly enjoyed this one. Thanks for sharing.

    Like

    Reply

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