Felicity

by Mary Oliver

Moments There are moments that cry out to be fulfilled. Like, telling someone you love them. Or giving your money away, all of it. Your heart is beating, isn’t it? You’re not in chains, are you? There is nothing more pathetic than caution when headlong might save a life, even, possibly, your own.

only if there are angels in your head will you ever, possibly, see one.

This must mean something, I don’t know what. But certainly it doesn’t mean he hasn’t been an excellent cricket all his life.

As I grew older the things I cared about grew fewer, but were more important. So one day I undid the lock and called the trash man. He took everything. I felt like the little donkey when his burden is finally lifted. Things! Burn them, burn them! Make a beautiful fire! More room in your heart for love, for the trees! For the birds who own nothing—the reason they can fly.

For Tom Shaw S.S.J.E. (1945–2014) Where has this cold come from? “It comes from the death of your friend.” Will I always, from now on, be this cold? “No, it will diminish. But always it will be with you.” What is the reason for it? “Wasn’t your friendship always as beautiful as a flame?”

Everything That Was Broken Everything that was broken has forgotten its brokenness. I live now in a sky-house, through every window the sun. Also your presence. Our touching, our stories. Earthy and holy both. How can this be, but it is. Every day has something in it whose name is Forever.