192: Joy Map

If I was to draw a map of my joy

like dots in a constellations

or pegs in a light bright

or all those google map pins

there would be a stop for you

and the way you stand up when you really get to laughing

and a stop dancing in the kitchen in our socks

and a stop for headphones in, music loud, walking through

New York City streets

feeling like a lioness because we’re all just so alive.

There would be a dot for wool socks

and cups of tea

and that first moment when we all hop on zoom and squeal

because we’ve missed each other’s faces.

There would be a dot for summers by the water

and picnics and the feeling of the sun trying to kiss freckles into my skin.

There would be a dot for the older woman by the bus stop

who strikes up a conversation

to tell me about her favorite bus driver Jerry,

“He really is just so wonderful.”

There would be a dot for candles on a cake

and my mom’s sweet potato casserole,

handwritten cards, friends who send you songs and say

“This made me think of you,”

snapchat memories that bring back

the people I love

and the feeling I get

when I roll over

in the middle of the night

and see you there.

That’s the last stop on the map.

I’m home.