A Pocketful of Joy

by Mishty Singh

Joy doesn't always dance in parades

or call your name from mountaintops.

Sometimes, it drifts in quietly

the same way light pools on windowsills,

the same way a breeze remembers your hair.

It hides in mismatched teacups,

in songs that start slow and end in smiles,

in the rustle of pages at midnight,

and the comfort of socks pulled just right.

A butterfly doesn’t know

how much wonder it carries.

A laugh, once shared,

can echo longer than any storm.

These are the things we tuck in our pockets,

not loud, not bold, not grand,

but soft like petals lost in journals,

blooming when we understand.