by Abby Smoker
tell me how it is that the ugliest days can be redeemed
by a single sunset, gold and shimmering blush
washed across the sky–
who wrote it into the world
that the smallest, gentlest things should save us
from calling these our rockiest days?
who decided a kind note at 8am should affect us like fairy dust
who designed stars to pour us full with wonder
or trained healthy laughter to be so contagious?
it is a challenge to label anything
as utterly desolate
on a planet such as this, where Heaven
so stubbornly starts to manifest
in glimpses, and in gifts.
we are broken by small things.
sometimes, invisible taps
crack us like porcelain.
but it strikes me how easily
the small things can seal us, too.
how gracefully our daily universes
can ease resentment
from our shoulders
and replace it
with something tender, hopeful,
and just a little lighter.