This joy
(F. Galaz, 2020)
Sometimes I believe this joy
is more yours than mine.
And now she’s gone.
But she returns at her whim,
sometimes for long stretches,
and other times, other times for so
little time, it almost seems like a
mirage.
I touch her, try to immerse
myself in her but before I know it,
she’s already vanished,
she’s already gone with your
laughter and your curly hair.
Perhaps she too has fallen in love with it all like...
Maybe she also
feels guilty,
perhaps she fell so
quickly that she didn’t notice
when the scratches appeared and her
legs stopped working
so fast, that pulling away from you
in time was nearly impossible.
But now she’s gone,
perhaps never to return, with
that smile that once between us, seemed to negotiate
with confused glances a better outcome.
Now this joy has
departed, and behind her
lie the endless nights
counting stars we never had,
the picnic in Italy that passed us by,
the kisses you never gave me,
the song waiting in your guitar
that never got to play its chords,
the cheesy nickname that couldn’t
reach your mind in time,
the trip in the Van you always
wanted and now seems to race
past us like an almost nonexistent
possibility, laughing uproariously.
You’ve gone and this joy,
which has been so faithful to you from the start,
has faded away along with the shadow
your absence has left.
