Encyclopedia of Presumed Joys

She threw the abundance of her desire
Into the hollowness of every day
And came back empty.
She called it scarcity.

The world gave her much to fill:
Hours, forms, hearts, rooms.
She wanted to fill them with
Fresh-cut flowers,
Night skies so close you could drink them,
The sound of paintbrushes chiming against the rims of water glasses,
‘Other: Please specify.’

Her desire tasted like her mother’s friend playing piano after dinner.
Desire taught her that some families play piano after dinner
And call it dinner, not tea.

It taught her the shapes of other people’s lives have softer edges.
That you can over-water flowers, and rancour desire with too much thought.
That desire is a glass that can only ever be half-filled.

She wanted a heart so boundless
It would lift her clean off the streets
On the long walk home.
But here she is,
On the same dirty pavement,
And her heart is nowhere in particular.