Diana Raab’s poem If I had carrots on Sunday appeared here in February 2014.
By Diana Raab
The minute you do what you
really want you feel a sense of joy,
fluttering between your heart strings
as bliss overcomes like a cat
who just found its mouse
scrambling full force around the barnyard,
or the way a homeless guy feels
when winning the largest lottery,
or the way a school kid feels
when blowing his first gum bubble
or the way a lover’s eyes
glow in the dark under the neon moon.
It’s just this really good feeling,
embodied in every neoplasm
of your body like
when you see your lover naked
for the very first time
or you realize that you make your own joy
and can do what you want to do
whenever you want to.