Helen Cottee
Plain Sight
I used to find joy
In wild, loud experiences,
On mountain tops
And in large auditoriums
Of raised arms and collective euphoria.
I found it in co-creating a world
For the redeemed
And in building, building, building.
These days that
seems so exhausting to me.
I miss it,
Or maybe I don’t.
Maybe I just miss
The joy that rippled through it.
I thought joy had left me
But I think she was
Simply hiding out
In plain sight:
In dark evenings speckled
with the flicker of candlelight,
Of hands pressed into cool soil,
Of an upturned face
Spritzed with soft winter rain,
Of the smell of bread
And the feel of my son
Wrapped in a long, unhurried hug,
Tucked into my arms
Like a puzzle piece
That has continued to grow with me.
Joy is simpler
This side of the mountain.
It no longer requests me
To prove myself
Or convert others
Or exhaust myself
In empire building
Or sacrifice myself
On the alter of righteousness.
It simply lingers on the edge
Of sleep and thin places
Waiting for me to fall in.
