We are happy now
in this land of plenty.
We wear smiles when we
go out to socialize
and it is only sometimes now
that I hear our song and remember
cramped rooms with no furniture,
and you,
trying so hard to keep me
from running away.
It's funny, then, that I would want to return
to tears, to ice cream and promises
that one day we will be happy.
Why return to desperation, to huddling together
and wishing on stars over the ocean?
I was little then, but sometimes I think
that if these cookouts aren't happiness,
then that might have been.
Sometimes I think:
O, how I miss our suffering.