by Gabriela Baron ’20
If I could have anything, I would choose a mason jar.
Not one filled with caramel candies
or crumbled pocket money,
but one holding light.
Light that radiates:
the rush of riding a perfect wave
and the vivid memory a song brings.
A worn out, well-loved book
and a puppy’s slobbery kisses.
A baby’s uncontrollable laughter,
sighs of relief,
and extra time.
I’d bring that jar with me
and share it with:
The boy sobbing
because he lost his little league game.
who flunked her final,
who never calls his family,
and the sibling
who always feels second best.
The bride that walks down the aisle
without her Dad,
who never gets a “thank you,”
and your neighbor
who lies in bed, staring at the empty pillow beside her.
I would give it to them
so the boy
will want to play again,
and the teenager will learn
scores don’t measure her success.
The uncle will come home for Christmas,
and the sibling will realize
there’s no competition for a parent’s love.
The bride will feel her father’s presence,
the mailman will know he matters,
and your neighbor will remember,
she’s not alone.
If I could have anything,
I would have a jar
that lights up the darkest miseries of life.