Happiness Is

Maybe

It’s a little much for a Monday

The wine and the soup

The Mancini

And the warm socks

The face I love to look at

While I chop and stir and season

Really

While I do anything

His voice resonates across the counter

Settles into my heart

Like music

Like a song I want to hear over

And over

And over

While we talk of nothing

All the really important nothing

That seems to be

The minutia

The binding of life

For these few hours

While the prizes of our love

Are snuggled safe and adored

In their beds and blankets and comforters

And bunnies

For these few hours

No horror exists in the world

No injustice

No lack

Even the darkness is lovely

It’s when you know you are home

And while it’s nice that there’s wine

And food in the fridge

Warm walls

New mattresses

Records to spin

Laundry to fold

In these moments

On a Monday

They are seen for what they are

Trappings only

Just trappings

The bows and ribbons

Of a much larger gift

The gift of belonging

Of knowing

You have found your people

People who dance with you in the living room

Bring you coffee

Or a cappuccino

In an empty tea set cup

Or can’t wait to tell you

When they see

A “beautiful beautiful Helicopter”

My face rests perfectly

On a very particular shoulder

And Holy God

Am I grateful

Grateful and greedy

And slurping it up

Like soup