Whatever may be the tensions and the stresses of a particular day, there is always lurking close at hand the trailing beauty of forgotten joy or unremembered peace.

—Howard Thurman
philosopher, theologian, Civil Rights leader
1899–1981

•••

How quickly we forget the bliss,
much less the simple okay-ness,
when the awful comes to call.

It doesn’t knock politely;
it barges in, knocking over
the furniture, upending

our carefully cultivated calm,
smashing the peace into,
well, pieces. The awful

settles into our chests, our
bellies, our throats like a
wicked virus unwilling to leave,

determined, it seems, to
take us down, down, down.
But just over the shoulder,

if we look, we see forgotten
joy waving its little snapshots
at us. Making cookies with

the grandchildren. Holding hands
with a beloved, even for the last
time. Taking a kitty or doggy

into our arms, on our laps,
smiling when they nuzzle in
for a pat. Unremembered peace

sticks close, too, often delivered
in small doses—a spoonful
at a time. But it can be enough

to usher the awful out the door,
even for a moment or three. It will
nose its way back in soon enough.

May we pick up joy’s snapshots,
tucking them into the photo albums
of our hearts, helping us hold

others with great tenderness.
Let us sip sweet peace, chase it
with a dollop of chocolate sauce

and a lip-smacking mmmmmm!,
which brings us back to joy,
not forgotten at all.