They ask me.
What makes you happy?

I tell them.
Not much anymore.

As a child
It was easy.
Warm biscuits
Dripping with Honey
Fresh churned butter
Bread hot from the old iron cookstove.

Fireflies in the dark
Raspberries in the woods
Brown throated violets.

I got older.
Happiness
Is not easier
As you get older.

The cookstove is gone.
Biscuits
Dripping with butter and honey
Are forbidden.

I long for fireflies
And violets.
The comfort of oven warm bread.

In the grownup years
Happiness
Was falling exhausted
Into bed, still reeking of chemicals
But so thankful
Of a chance
To just lay down.

To just close my eyes
Until the alarm woke me
And it was time
To begin again.

Once you become
A mom
You know
Where your happiness lies.
It's all wound up
In the wonder of your child.
Happiness
Is watching your child
Evolve before your eyes.

Today
My son is grown.
I still get hugs
But

I long for those days
Of "Mommy fix?"
And "Why?"
Those days when a hug
Meant the whole world
To your little one.

During the Hell years
Happiness
Was surviving the night.
With my son in school
It was watching
The beauty I could create
In my garden.
My child and my garden
Were all I had.

So where is the happiness now?

Is it just the wonder of my art?
Is that all I have left?
You know
What I long for.
I think,
Happiness
Is a fleeting memory
Of love.

Do you know what happiness is?
I'll fill you in
If I ever achieve it again.