Was there something more
I wanted than my children
to be happy? For they are.

Was there something more
I hoped to do than what I love
to do? Because I’m doing it.

And is there something
greater than the peace
of mind of health and
time that’s mine to do
with as I wish? To love
and be loved with a passion
that grows stronger as the
years unfold? For all these
things, yes, every one of them,
I have and am and do—
and yet, of course!

There’s always something
more of happiness that seeks
itself, solutions toppling in
like puppy dogs in barrels
rolling out with eagerness,
outweighing future questions
I’m not keen or quick enough
to ask—although I did, at every
turn of hardship and despair.

The proof of love, its steadfast
listening, pours abundance
over me, continuous, an
avalanche of dreams come
true and truer still, a force
that doesn’t force of sums
and multitudes aligning
and defining, just beyond
the smoky veil of my
own reticence. A little
blow, not even that, a
puff of letting go, of maybe
so, is all it takes to see
the something more that’s
always been and ever will
be right in front of me.

© Elaine Stirling, 2014
Image of Roman Amphitheatre,
Arles, France, by author