Joyful Things
After Sei Shōnagon
Awakening alone in freshly laundered sheets. Morning sunlight playing hide-and-seek
with the curtains and trees.
Drawing one’s eyeliner evenly on the first try.
A neighbor’s cat rolling in the front yard, scratching his back on the warm paving stones.
Meeting a stranger in the coffee shop and becoming fast friends for five minutes.
The perfect sweet and spicy balance of an iced chai latte.
Arepas topped with basil, cream cheese, and fig jam.
Courtyards and patios. Shady foliage. Sidewalk buskers playing a favorite song.
The unexpected sight of your name lighting up my phone.
Dogs that shamelessly hang their heads out car windows, ears flapping, tongues panting.
The sensation of tiny minnows nibbling one’s toes in the river.
A crawfish caught gently in a soft cage of hands, admired, and released again.
The full-body shock of leaping from a cliff into a calm swimming hole. The rush
of cold water across dry skin. The first breath after resurfacing.
Binoculars and prescription goggles: new ways to see the world.
A book filled with stories about living and poems about love. Words that make one feel
understood. Connection through language.
Wild blackberries plucked from the August sun and popped directly into open mouths,
tartness bursting past seeds and stained tongues.
The briefest of moments when my lips touch the place on the can of seltzer
where your lips have also touched.
Horses galloping through pastures and cows grazing on grass as the sun sets
behind the mountain.
The scent of impending rain on an evening breeze.
The flock of bats that lives under the bridge emerging at dusk. The miracle of choreography
that they never collide, despite their chaotic dance.
String lights on the porches of farmhouses. Laughter drifting from backyard bonfires.
The moon when it is as round and perfect as a pearl.
The long history of human invention that makes a modern car run. The steady sound
of pavement beneath wheels. The nighttime wind in one’s hair.
Tracing out Cassiopeia in the sky. Knowing she will always be there.
Knowing she always has.
Songs about daisies on the stereo. Soft voices humming along.
Your fingers tapping out a familiar beat
on my bare knee.
Aileen Sheedy started writing poetry and fan fiction in fourth grade and somehow never stopped writing either. In her professional life, she is a filmmaker who has contributed to over a hundred productions, from feature films to commercials to episodic series, and she holds an incredibly underutilized degree in computer science. Her poetry has been published in Imposter. Aileen lives in Portland, Oregon, with the world’s least graceful cat, and you can find her online at aileensheedy.com.