A Remedy for Happiness

I was murdered by my first love

at the un-ripe age of seventeen.

As far as I know, 

he’s still out there

unaware that my slow death

was not an end in itself.

Memories of early happiness

still stalk me, arriving unannounced

and unwanted often when

I’m engaged in small tasks

like chopping carrots or 

retrieving the mail.

That’s when I hide.

This has been my story,

a story I never meant to stick with.

The fact that I am still here

is testament to how I managed

to jump my narrative tracks.

I had to do something

because being dead is no way to live.

I did everything but change my name

though I might as well have.

You’ll find my palette lacks a color

I will never go back to.

Though when I see it

and its everywhere in nature,

there is no escaping 

it’s unassuming violence.

But few take time to notice

my absence of green.

One time happiness rushed 

up on me in Central Park

as if hiding behind a tree.

It threw me to the ground

and pushed my face 

against grass and stones.

It left a mark for days.

There is nowhere it can’t find me.

Are we all being so

tracked and snared?

I can’t be the only one.

Let’s face it,

if I had and wanted it,

or even let it,

I couldn’t have written this

to warn you.

Peter Valentyne

August 2018