I let our daughter read a news story about one who walked months
on a broken pelvis before she noticed it
crunching inside her like dry leaves.
And I can hear L. now
practicing in the kitchen, holding her hands under water hot
as she can stand it, singing softly: I don’t care I don’t care I don’t care.
When asked to define happiness half the room will
describe a quality of light, the sky required to feel right.
For a while we …