Inviting Sorrow

~ after Ross Gay (Inciting Joy)


Come in— I baked cookies last night,
a swirl of toffee and chocolate that makes

each look like a two-toned planet. There's 
coffee and a selection of tea, and shelves 

of books that need dusting and rearranging. 
In other words, you can sit with me while I

brace myself for the next delivery of bad
news. Or you can help me figure out

a new arrangement for the living 
room furniture, where the cushions 

are soft and thick enough to cover
my face when I feel like sobbing

or screaming. Enough light falls on
the monstera, but there's still a cozy

spot to read by the window in the evening.
Yes, I used to shut the door in your face 

every time you came calling, but I read 
an essay that said you like potlucks,

dancing, and bonfires—Unbelievable, 
I thought at first; until I remembered 

the night our neighbor invited us 
to her home to meet an honest- 

to-gosh shaman. I admit I went, hoping 
perhaps he'd see clear through to my 

wounded heart and give me some spell 
or powerful talisman to right it. No such luck.

But someone lit a fire and we sat in a circle,
making messy cracker sandwiches of melted

chocolate and marshmallows. Soon, we  
were telling stories of our lives from when 

we arrived in this country, as well as from 
the time before. Someone passed bowls 

of soup around. At the end, he had each of us
lay a pebble or twig or flower in the middle 

of a bandanna. No one had to explain anything;
everything just seemed to make sense.