THE GHOST, ON JOY
A Poem by Deidre Braley
I am alive again
now that the atmosphere
has changed its tune
and the lilacs effuse
the happiest days
of my youth
to sweeten the
cumbers of
everyday work
and the Holy Ghost part of me
[the best part, that is]
enlivens my limbs and whispers
sweet somethings—tales from
the realms of reality
truer than my feet on this peeling
deck or the leaves of the oak
all gilded in laughter and light
yet I would be lying
if I didn’t acknowledge
the storm in my gut,
if I were to pretend that
I don’t sometimes long
for the thrashing of
electricity to electron—
to be utterly shaken,
erupting from my microcosm
into a larger wonder and
a grander plan.
But maybe that’s
the Holy Ghost in me too
maybe of the laughter
and the thrashing, the light and
the electrolysis
there is no
discrepancy
of holiness
maybe there is room
with the Holy Ghost employed
to take the gilded
with the gunshots
and to count it all
joy.