Wild Nights!

Looking South

Monroe Street, Hoboken

Last evening on my way home from my friend

Erin's place on Adams, I bumped into Nostalgia. I 

wasn't surprised to see her; it was her kind of night:

the air felt just right, light cast perfect shadows,

and the communal sound of others rang clear.

We had a lot of catching up to do, so she walked 

me home; it was nice to be alone together,

whispering secrets and giggling like school girls.

I wonder if that's how Emily Dickinson felt when

she wrote that Wild Nights should be our luxury;

living in the memory of those nights is just as indulgent.

When I arrived back at Headquarters, we kissed goodbye

on the front stoop and promised to meet again soon. As she

walked back into the night, someone called to her; I watched

as she crossed the street and embraced a bright shadow.

Hand in hand, they made their way toward the corner,

only to stop quickly and wave back at me and that's

when I recognized the other girl was Happiness. 

Oh, Happiness, how I've missed thee!

Next time, please join us!

I remember one morning getting up at dawn, 

there was such a sense of possibility. 

You know, that feeling? And I remember thinking to myself: 

So, this is the beginning of happiness. This is where it starts. 

And of course there will always be more. 

It never occurred to me it wasn't the beginning. 

It was happiness. It was the moment. Right then. 

- Clarrisa Vaughn, The Hours