How Seemingly Simple
Happiness is Harder
by Jane Hirshfield
To read a book of poetry
from back to front,
there is the cure for a certain kind of sadness.
A person has only to choose.
What doesn’t matter; just that —
This coffee. That dress.
‘Here is the time I would like to arrive.’
‘Today, I will wash the windows.’
Happiness is harder.
Consider the master’s description
of awakened existence, how seemingly simple:
Hungry, I eat; sleepy, I sleep.
Is this choosing completely, or not at all?
In either case, everything seems to conspire against it.