Joy

I'm reading Brené Brown's new book, 'Braving the Wilderness' at the moment.  It's one of those books that incites feelings of confusion, contrition, choleric outrage, and at times a compulsion to consign the whole thing to the freezer until I recover my equilibrium.  Do read it.  I've just read the following and it's a reiteration of statements she's made in many of her previous publications:  "Joy is probably the most vulnerable emotion we experience."

I suddenly remembered this poem I wrote nearly two years ago.  It was in response to the challenge laid down by a poetry group I was a part of briefly, to write something about joy.  In applying myself to the task, the realisation dawned on me that it was a long time since I'd felt any.  Reading Brené's words again I am beginning to see why.  

Here is the poem:

Joy

Plink.

Every odd

Moment,

A drip

Drops

Down

Into the deep.

Plink, plink.

Once and again,

There it falls,

Echoing

Against

The stones

Slickened with moisture.

Plink, plink, plink

Dark moss drinks a draught

And drains each drop,

Each tiny drop

Of water

Right away

But still the damp persists.

Plink, plink, plink, plink.

Frequency increasing.

It’s flowing faster,

Firmly, fervently.

I keep hoping

That, keeping faith,

My cup will soon run over…

Mary Goodman 5/12/2015