Happiness

I could, I really could, I say.
I could sit down while you re-paint the porch
and sip coffee until I die today.
Because the caffeine in the morning
and because the morning in your smile.
Because it took me such a long while to be,
here,
sitting on a porch with you,
rooted.

Is this how it feels to be a tree among trees?
A vine of ivy draped across similar vines?

Community: when I complain that I do all the talking
and you toss me a scowl.
Because you speak through deeds,
and me, incessant vocabulary made verbal.

Does the ivy not climb?
See: one tree, desiring sun, shooting past another unforgivingly.
Isn’t the Earth complex?
A solitary, living planet spinning in a cosmic mess,
and yet — brothers with Pluto.

And you, and me, and we.
Respecting boundaries, are able to co-exist:
together and separate.

Margaret Potts graduated from DePaul University, Chicago, with a degree in Philosophy and French. She’s published poetry with After Hours, a Chicago literary journal, and won 2nd place in the South Dakota State Poetry Society’s annual contest. She currently lives in Oakland, California, where she works with at-risk youth.