Too Happy

I remember the older women who told me I was too happy. A couple of peers told me this too. All I can say to that other Akua is you were right to rejoice. I thank you for your
joy because you knew how good life was for you. I speak to you from a comparative hell.
I applaud your gentleness and compassion, because you had many things I don't have:
health, your mother, your father, your bright dreams and determination to change the world. You could sleep on the floor, walk from Brooklyn to Manhattan, ride your bicycle,
carry your instruments on the bus and subway, eat florentine apple torte and caht with the smart Argentian Italian lady, be warmly greeted and served by the old Italian lady
who rocked slightly as she walked and graced you with a smile. You were right to be happy and show it, because they are all gone now and your only solace is that you loved them all, you loved your shimmering life, the songs you sung as you walked those long city blocks about your loves and your struggles, becuae now you can no longer walk or dance or hang out or play or see any of them ever again.