“Then, for no reason, you start to laugh”*

because hopelessness has its limits.

Collapse all around:

The water rushing in, the bills piled high,

the unknown illness with its inky red fingers

curling around your tightened neck

and still a pool of

contentment sits still in your gut

just waiting to stir up the feelings of

power and purpose,

a personal prayer

pushing you upward and onward and then

bursting forth in a gut-wrenching

ache to let go,

if even for just that brief moment

you know nothing can be done

except to live with your breath,

maybe even whoop at

the absurdity of the place you

have found yourself.

What better choice is there then than

to grab on,

let go, tittering, and feel

the curve of a smile creep

round your wrinkled countenance?

 

 

 

*On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous” by Ocean Vuong

Hour Four