Edward Hirsch
HAPPINESS WRITES WHITE


I am a piece of chalk
scrawling words on an empty blackboard.

I am a banner of smoke
that crosses the blue air, and doesn’t dissolve.

I don’t believe that only sorrow
and misery can be written.

Happiness, too, can be precise:

Doctor, doctor, I have a sudden throbbing
on the left side of my chest
and my ribs are wrenched by joy.

Wings flutter in my shoulders
and blood courses through my body
like waves cresting on a choppy sea.

Look: the eyes blur with tears
and the tears clear.

My head is like skylight.
My heart is like dawn.