Sorrow and Joy

Sorrow sticks to me
with the tiny talons
of woodland things
clever velcro claws
that trap and tear

Joy is thick and sweet
like dense droplets of oil
that slip easily through
the liquid membrane
of my water-logged mind

As if my soul were fine tuned
to the piercing puncture wounds
of even mild misfortunes
but immune to the equally
abundant presence of pleasure

Cursed to carry the wrong container
and collect only itching burs
but not buoyant blessings
regardless of the quantity of each
that happen to come my way

A cup for gratitude that has a crack
or even worse, a burlap sack
that can only attract and hold
the heavy, solid moments that hurt
while every drop of delight drips through

A faulty, backward magnetic field
that repels the currents that heal
but quickly aligns with what's unpleasant
the unnatural effort to help myself
is more tiring than circling the drain