joy

there is joy here
buried under and beside
sadness.
reaching’ though.

present is
periwinkle tinged with
speckled smiles in this world.
folk stutter here,
trip over nothing,
smile at random,
wear no make-up
over pretty, ugly, still
feeling awe-some.

that’s joy.

wet jokes
wit’ no seasoning or
sense.
sisters smiling at one
another sincerely,
stead of falsely
nailing one another
to the naked cross,
like stretch marks and
cellulite don’t blubber
their souls.. an organ.
plz. chile.
you transparent, though.

"oh, hey, sis!”

that’s REAL joy.