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Doughnuts are lovely
when glazed, don’t you think?
but not eyes, no, not eyes,
which were made from the stars
and like fresh minted dimes
ought to twinkle and shine.

Frost on a window mid-February
I can bear, sometimes barely,
but frost on a smile that is crispy
and cold, accompanying words
never meant, merely said, is only
a step or two better than dead.

I am over the moon and have
been awhile, outrunning the cynics
and scorners who skulk in their
corners with lists, keeping score
of the ills of the world. The perpetual
curl on their lips guarantees
they will never be kissed
by the sweet likes of me.

Goodbye and good riddance,
I say to the problems and
memories I bottled in rows,
neatly labeled, obsessive like
old Howard Hughes. You can
call me a shrink, but I really
do think that raising a stink
instead of a toast to this life
we’ve been given shows
grim lack of talent and is
more than a little bit gross.

Make the most, I suggest,
of the best, give the bad stuff
a rest, for the end of this life
as we know it must come,
and I’d rather look back
with a grin than a grimace
and take the small chance
that we’ll leap into something
ten thousand times better
that’s calling our name—
can you hear it? I do!

Welcome home, shiny
eyes, we’ve a place over
here, where the joy is!


© Elaine Stirling, 2014
Photograph of the Mediterranean Sea
by author