a blessing when you can’t fake it (or make it?)

I have been propped up on my toes,

peering over fences

but mostly staring at the peeling paint.

Hoping has become longing.

Wanting has become needing.

I can see love everywhere but here.

There is a naturalness to the way

other people experience their joys

popping up like tender, spring grasses.

The earth, it seems, is always warm

and autumn seedlings break open

and bring life, life, everywhere.

And I chew on my lip

as neighbors roll their eyes at

relationships, children, plans—gifts

I would tear open like a Christmas present.

What riches.

Scatter my heart like a dandelion,

drifting high over these walls

and setting down, gently,

where good things grow.

Contentment and wonder,

surprise and new adventure,

comfort in the hands of those

who know love’s value and love’s cost.

Envy will be blown away by another breeze

and I rest here waiting,

waiting for the blooms.