smile

And then I noticed it—

I don’t smile 

Like I used to.

The girl in the pictures is bursting

With something I lost long ago.

—

Then I see it—

Not something

Good or 

Bad

But rather

A maturing of the cheekbones,

An ironing of the soul.

You see, 

Those smiles were born of

Flimsy, ethereal happiness—

An acute delirium.

The smile now 

Is calmer,

Conceived in even moments of darkness

But chosen amidst the shards

Of stained glass window memories—

Now she smiles with 

Chronic, constant, unquenchable joy.