by Sara Watson
I spend much of the time not declaring my happiness.
Today I ate a cupcake the size of a pony.
I saw a woman with white-hot hair, hitching.
I didn't turn a cartwheel but I might have.
I didn't get my photo done in a famous person's parlor but I might have.
I have a moderate fear my happiness may seem oppressive.
I apologize for the wet blanket of my happiness.
By the side of the road, black cows with white middles, mooing.
One hundred acres of grass.
Inside my head, your face open 24/7.