The child struggling to name big feelings has been heard to cry when he is sad, Make me happy. What makes him sad? A small turn in some expectation, or a more momentous change: moving houses, his school closing for the summer, familiar routines supplanted by new. We all want to feel we've not been abandoned—that the one we love has merely stepped into another room to brush her teeth or take a shower, put the breakfast plates into the dish- washer. How does one learn to forgive happiness like a paper airplane, crisply folded, that lofts but holds only seconds in the air? How is even just a momentary sadness a revolving door? Stuck in the middle, we panic at the thought of glass panels closing in, while everyone else who's passed through goes on with the rest of the day.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
