It could have been the way

a single bird of paradise flared up 

with orange, flanged wings

from the shrubs 

or water chortled its ocean language 

in a steel pot

that quieted the world’s strident cries

of pandemic. I’d felt the same dismay 

as people the world over

the same reach for mother’s life

and my own livelihood.

But inexplicably

       lightness

even that now taboo state of joy.

The way bushels of violets

spilled from their buckets

and boughs stripped of leaves

reached sideways for light.

In the hush of a world

stopped suddenly

still as winter

it was as if detail was invented —

snail lit on the windowsill

steam framed like a photograph

wind chime from the silence

the pace of daylight

remembered.

—Rebecca Tolin

“Taboo State of Joy” first appeared in the journal CARE. Learn more here.