Good News

By Laura Evans

I miss groggy steam rising

my coffee maker, growling over grounds

begrudgingly distilling joy‑scented promise

I miss tracing cracked leather lines

my steering wheel, sliding through my hands

relinquished for two tense grips: bus pole and handphone

I miss unripened shades of green

my weekly cluster of bananas, awaiting consumption

now I wait, resigned, for fruit in its season

Miss

understanding conversations in passing

solving crosswords with my mother each morning

testing the bounds of my physicality

Craving such small comforts

like knowing

how green lights cycle at neighborhood intersections

which chocolate milk tastes most like my childhood

what unbothered street offers space to dance unobserved

But twice daily, commute between harbor and hills

painted in sunlight, I am overwhelmed

sitting witness, stenographer of this serendipity

The good news is:

These days I distill my own joy

dance in the morning

suppress a smile, work myself awake

The good news is:

A bowl of soup needs no translation

love, placed on the table before me

its grammar, conjugations of compassion

The good news is:

I can call home

miles of distance, hours of time

mere ellipsis when I hear “Hello?”

The good news is:

I reinhabit my neglected body

as I sweat and I breathe

blue belt on black gi¹

The good news is:

I am content in this

Life: collection of iterations on old habits. I’m rebuilding

Connection: the kindness of humanity, my anchor

Gratitude: embodied, the sun rising over my skin and the sea.