—after C.S. Lewis’ The Weight of Glory and
Gustav Klint’s Longing for Happiness (Austria) 1901
Happiness is toasted marshmellows, coconut
macaroons, oily macadamia nuts and Paris
rain. Front porch swings, putty in a child’s hands,
icy moon drops, and soft jazz. Happiness is harp
strings at Christmas, the cypress tree stretching
on the river’s muddy banks. It’s a terry cloth
robe at evening, a hot bath, an answered
prayer.
But we know macaroons don’t last, do they,
nor does rain, sun and moon, and soft jazz.
Cypress trees lose their leaves in late autumn,
and bath water quickly turns cold. Perhaps
the thing is not that which matters the most,
but the longing, the yearning, the want. It is
the desire for breaking news, for the far-off
country, for that long-expected someone
of our dreams. It’s the ache for beauty
we have yet to experience, the scent
of a flower we have not [yet discovered],
the echo of a tune we have not [yet] heard.
Published: Ekphrastic Review, Aug 2024