dodging the clattering false
dichotomies (strict or permissive,
realistic or lovely)
bearing the angular unhappiness
of life as taught
(so far removed from my longings)
settling for (seeing no choice)
the indifferent acceptance, the
provisional belonging,
taking for granted the gray
gaping loneliness
stretched in long swaths
across my days
No, not this! Not this,
rather, what was there through it all,
the deep hopes (that glinted, often helpless,
behind the machinations),
the quick stolen acts of kindness,
the moments of honest expression
whose light spilled out
over all the darkness
and saved me, really,
time and again. Those were the real gifts,
the ones they intended all along,
the ones we intend, too.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 23, 2016
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