Happiness to a child
is infinite as the sky,
bathing in the hot pink of sunsets and the smiles of snowflakes,
ignorant to everything but the taste of icicles and the snowman you are building in the park and
the curious way that twilight
can taste as blue as heaven.
In third grade I built a time machine tunnel in a snow bank.
Linda fell through the top,
smothering me, like my grandpa’s pale face in the coffin and my mom’s sobbing,
clutching me so tight I couldn’t even see through her arms to the color of the sky.
Tissues of tears being passed around,
because there weren’t enough in the world to dry our red eyes.
Me, weeks later back in my life, living happily,
through the old vague blue sky
getting to rollerblade on my plastic rollerblades,
too fat to get the rubber ones I always wanted.
Ich bin froher (I am happy)
Shoua May would always say
when all other galaxies up and above the
double rainbows exploded
there were new ones,
creating and recreating their world.