Happiness often wears a massive quilted dress
of too many puzzling tantalizing possibilities
An embezzlement of colors
from Monet’s garden shed
or his last forgotten journal
The glee was hard to figure out or define!
Was it that matter of the pigeon that
Had arrived on Beulah’s terrace
a few days after she lost her
Alcoholic, very handsome, very loved maddening son,
who used to save all the stray and hurting,
ill treated dogs in town, and would
Do anything to improve animal care in the City
But would not, could not, stop the whisky or the cigarettes?
Flung his good looks, good luck, love and peace away
Like old newspapers, old plastic bags and old shoes
A week after he died, suddenly, quietly, one morning,
The pigeon had laid two eggs on her balcony and then
Finally delivered her babies which were now tiny new
Settlers who welcomed Beulah as if she was the visitor!
She talks to them, cares for them and is happy
Though she is almost totally deaf, severely arthritic
and at 86, cannot visit all the book fairs she adored
Watches Animal Planet, enjoys it very much, reads
Anything and everything she can get her hands on
And drinks up happiness like a child, and it reminds me
Of Handel’s Hallelujah from his Messiah more than anything else
So that could be this overloaded box of sweet gratitude!
Pics and text: daksha