As happy as
a dead person
(specifically, that one
emerging from
the pile of leaves
in the corner lot).
That one whose face
has just been exposed
by this teensy tiny wind
that popped up just after dawn.
The neighbors on either side
must either have known it was there
or have been improbably oblivious,
as that huge smile
took a while
to come to the surface
from the look of
the rest of the face,
all white and naked
bone. Setting speculation
on why it’s here
and how it went unseen
this long aside,
can’t help thinking that
as happy
as it looks now to me
as it smiles and peers
black-holed out
of the oak and maple
clutter in the lot (which is
now I see also full
of trash bags and other
hopefully neutral humps
in the underbrush),
as happy as it appears
to me taking
my plodding wobble
of a morning walk
past here as I do
every morning,
that’s a level of happy
I could aspire to,
and after all these months
of unsteady and hurt,
I finally don’t care how
I might get there.
