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Quiet Joys

September 4th, 2008 Leave a comment Go to comments

There's a quiet joy I think
to my father's jokes that are 
funny-but-not-really. I
don't talk
when he tells them, and I put 
a face of one not
too moved for laughter.
There's a quiet joy I think
most people miss
walking down the broken sidewalk
of my conifer forest. Along the road
there are anise plants
so completely ordinary with
their two white petals
in an axis. I
roll one bulb between my fingers
and take in a sweetness that
cannot be forgotten. 
There's a quiet joy to my stomping
along the path to my house 
impeded by roots and tiny
nuts that bulge into my soul
through the soles of my shoes.
There's a quiet joy to these things,
till you twist an ankle.

 

*I'm more like my father than I'm willing to admit, and I did twist an ankle that hurt quite a bit for a few weeks.

Categories: Nature, Poetry
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