SECONDHAND JOY
Photo by Ernest Porzi on Unsplash
A Poem by Abby Dengler
I am bursting with secondhand joy. Last week, I walked jasmine-lined sidewalks and sat down
on a stone bench so my friend could show me her fountain pens. Words like “cartridge”
and “rose gold nib” flowed from her lips like glossy ink. I was the page, and she filled me
with borrowed wonder. Most mornings as I lay in bed, I hear my husband learning the piano
in the living room. He presses the keys quietly, but nothing can quiet his zeal when I shuffle out
and he asks, “Isn’t that song sounding better?” I beam back and the seams of my heart go loose.
My friend gave birth last week, exuding life in its purest form. Motherhood is a foreign land to me,
but she reaches through the distance with photos: her proud, sleepy eyes, smiling down on her
heart and body’s greatest treasure. She is bursting, and I give myself over to the adoration that
has unraveled her. The song I listen to now is called Lemon Tree and finding it for the first time
felt like smelling blossoms from around the corner: turning to find golden bulbs, biting into
something fresh, high, and sour-sweet. I’m amazed someone could bottle that vivid zest into
a melody for me. Some days feel so dreary: my screen time is up, and my savings account
is down. I fear for an invisible future. On those days, I wrap myself in your secondhand joy—
your sheer delight, awe, and giddiness. Joy fits you just right. When I try it on, it’s warm and it smells
like you. When I’m wearing it, I want for nothing.
Abigail Stone is a writer and editor at an LA-based publishing company. Her writing explores relational intimacy, and she is passionate about nurturing new voices and uniting creative communities. Find her on Instagram at @abigailstonejoy.
