Why is it that when I’m angry,
I smile? I smile when I’m sad, too-
and frustrated, annoyed, amused–
Oh, that would make sense,
forget amused.

But I did not smile when the hand
went up to silence me;
I did not smile when the good friend
turned away, when the dog died, when
the cat was eaten by the coyote.

Perhaps I am just not capable of being
mad enough or sad enough
or steel beam hard.
Perhaps the power to smile through
pain, laugh at my own neurosis,
observe the broken vase and see
the variety of mosaic pieces
and the new beautiful possibilities,
is the only real gift I have…
I should be grateful.

Often, though, I wish I could
sing instead.


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