and once,
a very long time ago,
I believed I was,
in fact,
happy,
It was another life,
full of bathtub gin and borrowed opalescent pearls,
mint satin gowns and progress uninterrupted by progress,
When it was believed that wars were to learn from,
instead of to repeat,
futile though those beliefs were,
When I was blinded by the exquisite stitching,
the unparalleled beadwork,
made up like snowflakes,
When we could not speak easy about the darkness of moonshine,
and when we found our grins only after sundown,
But it was another life of mine,
just a misunderstood one at that
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