What Made You Smile?

A midweek poem

Tell me three things that made you 
smile today, my study partner offered.  

OK, here goes, I told her: 
My little dog crossing a bridge 
over a brook, so brave! 
Dancing at my desk – 
this ain't no party, this ain't no disco –
as I mixed colors on a plastic palette
and embraced the mess. 

The silly meme I texted 
to my kids and sisters. 
My spouse transplanting seedlings, 
cooing over each sun-leaning sprout. 

Oops, that's four. That's what happens
when you start naming smiles.

*

If you see me, really see me, 
will you notice the smile lines
around my eyes
or the deep grooves 
between them where I worried 
for nothing? 

If you see me, really see me, 
will you know that every sprig
of gratitude grew in the unlikely ground 
of rumination, somehow thriving 
despite stubborn ruts and unforgiving grooves? 

If you see me, really see me, 
you will see a planet four, or seven, 12 
layers deep, you will see little birds 
fluttering around my head 
like so many stars, 
reflection and deflection 
and constant redirection, 
choreography of sun and moon, 
angels and lesser selves 
sipping coffee 
while the dog snores 
a symphony of contentment.

*

What made you smile today, 
dear one? Did you forget 
the world was created 
for you alone?
Did you remember 
that you, too, are dust, 
and thus can dust yourself off 
when things don't go your way?  

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