There are a few lucky – or perhaps I should say patient – people out there who have felt this half ounce of joy in the palm of their hand. It is a meeting of wild and tame, of mystery and mundane, of heaven and earth. This idea for a small joy flew straight to me, without any effort on my part. Which makes me wonder if another name for joy isn’t grace.
Chickadee
Joy wears a black cap and weighs half an ounce,
a puff of feathers winking one beady eye
as if to say
I know a secret.
As if it isn’t twenty below
and snow, snow, snow,
as if the weary world was not weeping icicles.
Joy lives seed-by-seed,
chicka-dee-by-dee,
each plump shell appearing like a promise
worthy of a hallelujah chorus,
a gospel in miniature.
And perhaps it is cheerful because it sings,
and perhaps we too can be sung
right off our heavy feet
and into feathered glory in the highest.
*
Lindsey Gallant
From Small: An Advent Poetry Sequence
Composed for the caregivers of The Good Samaritan Society (www.gss.org)
Illustration by Elizabeth Evans
