Making Light

Making light of
has changed, for me, from playing down
to playing up; I want to make it every day.
of whatever happens into my gaze—
the charming, of course, but
I want to wave my invisible baton,
also, at the tiresome,
the ornery, the downright mean.
Think of it! Magic from little old me
whooshing light in a wonder circle,
the way I used to whoosh
the bubble wand for my beautiful boy.

Making light of suffering is delicate.
The refugee had an infant on her back
when she and her toddler stopped
at my table in the piazza. She was
of course, disappointed when
I only smiled but didn’t
reach for my wallet. As they walked away,
I made as much light of them
as I’d ever made before,
such radiance splashing on their backs
that the whole piazza flashed
brilliant in the afternoon.

Grab your wand. You can do it, too.

©Susa Silvermarie 2019