Happy

Poem

 

The wheels on this rickety country bus continue

humming along the warm pavement, turning,
just as time turns and ushers me
towards that place where you are
wherever that is
whoever you are

And I am happy

The bus passes a simple cottage
and I see my mother bustling in the kitchen,
making four brown sack lunches for me
and my three, hungry, growing brothers
whenever that was
whoever we were

And I am happy

The bus passes a small, busy harbor
and I see my father standing steady atop his boat,
attaching lures to fishing rods with his skilled, rugged hands,
while the boat sloshes in the changing tides
whenever that was
whoever he was

And I am happy

I look out the greying window at the mountainside
and see myself working in the rolling, green fields
collecting the best coffee cherries, tossing the dead ones
and occasionally admiring their soft, crimson skins
whenever that was
whoever I was

And I am happy

I look behind me inside this rickety country bus
and see my mother, father, and brothers sitting,
worn from the long journey that brought us here,
silently smiling at me in solidarity
wherever this is
whoever we are

And I am happy

The wheels on this rickety country bus continue
humming along the warm pavement, turning,
just as time turns and ushers me
towards that place where you are
wherever that may be
whoever you are

And I am happy

 

more by A. M. LAINE

photograph by Bão-Quân Nguyėn