Why is it sometimes just towards evening
when the sun is a sweet cool light over your house,
and maybe it’s mid-spring and the trees
are that brief shade of green they only remain for a week;
that suddenly all your doubts vanish for an instant,
and everything – your wife and children, the shoes
you are wearing, the garage full of junk, your hands —
seems blessed, though nothing in your life has changed
except there is this light you are part of,
this light making everything clear, so all you have suffered
and all you will suffer, even your mother’s death
from cancer and your own death to come and the death
of all that you love seems perfect; and the light
shines right through your chest and into your heart
leaving only this happiness for a wound?
– Joe Salerno
From Only Here
[…] Nobody Knows the Answer to this Poem […]
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