The flower of sadness

Sadness, too, is a flower.

Black and purple on the outside,

Pink and yellow within,

Its bloom can warm a small room on a cold day.

It is neither man nor woman-eater.

Water it.

Give it space to grow

Speak to it kindly.

If you do this wisely and fearlessly,

The flower of sadness,

Like an old friend you love but can’t stand,

Begins to stake a claim in a secret part

Of your veteran heart.

Then one day

You begin to see it

In mirrors and photographs

And it grows into something else:

A face with eyes that invite you home.

A voice that knows only your name.

A coin glinting in sunlight for you alone.

At last, your losses return

As 40 clowns

Tumbling out of the

Ridiculous but sturdy

Volkswagen of your whole life,

With tricks and riddles to confound you

And laughter

At the beauty,

The goddamn beauty of it all!

                                                     -- New York, 20 December 1996