Optimism

 

There is this book which has been

following me around for weeks now.

Actually, not following so much as

accompanying, fitting nicely in

my hand, or atop my desk,

in the room I sometimes share with a cat.

The book is important.

That’s why I bought it. 

It is about hope, 

and also about the mind, 

about laughing at, 

but not making an enemy 

of the latter.

I say that’s what it is about,

but I don’t know for sure,

only what the dust jacket blurb says.

I can’t seem to get by the introduction,

not in my room, nor outside,

heck, not even at the library,

even though it’s open again.

My core seems obdurate in

its resistance to change, or growth.

I will say that, pages unread,

that book seems still to be

having an impact. 

I think about hope all the time.

A good thing, since

I have forever friends who 

will not see year’s end.

In the greater scheme of things,

I’m a mighty small fish in 

a very big pond, or, at most,

like one of those salmon,

returning to their place of creation,

encountering resistance at every turn. 

I hope this hope thing is not overrated. 

The book is heavy,

the thoughts too, 

sometimes.