The Muses of Happiness

For Joy (10/12/1947 - 03/08/2020)

My sister asked for a chocolate cake
And so I baked her one
With chocolate frosting and nothing out of the ordinary.

She was just recovered from fluid on her lungs
Aspirated the day after Thanksgiving.

Now, at home in her dining room,
She had the breath to appreciate 
The chocolate deliciousness.

Ten weeks later, she was lying in her hospital bed,
Cancer exploding throughout all her parts.
She was mostly delirious,
But was willing to take in some cold chicken soup.
I fed her, 
Small spoonful by small spoonful--
Her last meal.

I wish she were here to bake me popovers
And a cocoa carrot cake.

I want to revel with her in the sweet berries salad we'd often share
Or hear her joy at me playing the harp
And see her dab at her eyes when I sang a sad song.

I see your smile, Joy--a reflection of my crooked one.
But, where did you go?

I have been sleepwalking in a dusty confusion
while my soul longs for the clarity of transcendence.
I retreat into my room, fall into my bed, weary.

Sleep comes to me, 
heavy with fatigue and melancholy. 
I dream of wordless, menacing beings
who attempt to destroy me. 
I wake myself from the rush of fear
before I die this dream death. 

I lie there in and out of fitful unconsciousness. 

“Why do you sleep?”
says a Voice at the edge of my awareness. 
“Don't forget me,” I say in my anguish.
“Come to the door and greet me.” 

"Hello", says the Voice. 

I say, "Come in". 

A gentle hand wrestles
with the tangled bedclothes
of my consciousness, 
letting in a sliver of light
under the blanket of darkness. 

The Voice, warm and honeyed, soothes into my ear:
"Open your eyes, the lights will guide you.
They shine on the pathway to wherever you are heading."

A star, shining in my head, seems to say:
"Be just, be kind, be loving.
Watch and learn.
Choose."

From a place of green, warm, enfolding comfort deep inside me,
I hear my own voice:
"Open your heart and mind
and your mouth will sing, spilling out
an evanescent music which bubbles forth
a thousand spirits chanting
like flutes, like bells, like chimes,
like gongs of goodness.

Open your arms and hands
and your fingers will become feathered wings,
fanning out seeds of change
with a whoosh upon the wind."

***

I open my eyes.
I arise.
I stretch off the dusty sleep of the shadows.
I draw over my shoulders
the many-hued scarves of sensation.
I let fear be simply one color of the cloak I wear.

***

My feet follow the trail of the Voice.

Pain and suffering–
pinch, tweak, itch, ache, throb, soreness–
Human condition.

Rubbing in the salve–
With a touch or stroke on skin;
Is this true relief?

Deep inhale of air–
Energy wanders to cells,
Breath is half the cure.