I’ll Give Them a Happy Ending
Come. We’ll begin on their last day.
The pictures have all been gathered,
and their children are grown and mourning.
Before the crash, their silence was like a winter—
cold and long and spreading
across the horizon of sadness
where multiple disappointments
erupted and remained fixed to the landscape
like the corpses of trees after a wildfire.
Keep going. And if you can bear it,
wade through the flash floods
of their joy and into the voluminous deserts
of blame and lust and wanting
and you will come to an oasis of peace
when their children are young
and the only expectations are
the six o’clock alarm and the six o’clock dinner
and the ho hum of the midnight bedroom.
We’re almost there. Can you feel the softening?
Forgiveness is abundant and as flexible
as those nights their children were conceived,
and the drift of love is pushing them closer
toward that first photograph
which will capture the bliss of their ignorance—
the only reliable source
for such a sincere and earnest happiness.
And here, finally, is where they found it.