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Abstract is

not concerning concrete objects but expressing something that can only be appreciated

intellectually.

Abstract is

that short little blurb in the beginning of a research paper,

you know the only thing I really need to read

to get a general idea of the purpose and conclusions of the experiment.  The rest

is just fluff.  Why waste time with procedure

when I can skip to results?

Love, beauty, happiness

are not abstract to me. 

What still lives

inside of me are memories of her.  Swirls of

rosy pinks and dreamy lavenders,

the colors of the ribbons that foolishly

tried to tame her free-willed auburn ringlets.  Beauty is

those springy curls pirouetting in the wind.  Beauty is

dancing with the gold and orange specks

that sway playfully up and down the streets

on that warm autumn’s day. 

Hair and leaves seem pretty tangible to me.

Procedure.

Congratulate mom on her enlarged stomach.

Get mom whatever she wants whenever she wants it.

Don’t ask questions.

Spend some extra time with dad to show him some normalcy.

Get in the car and drive.

Reverse.  Drive back to grab the video camera.

Hold your baby sister.

Watch her grow.

Watch her play.

Watch her go away.

Watch her lay.

Our silence

was once filled with giggles escaping between the gaps

of newly formed teeth and

was once filled with chuckles from

the newly developed gut of a proud father.  Love is

the sound of doors slamming, anger bubbling, and feet

stomping

followed by a creak of wood and a beam of light

as my father opens the door to check on her.  Love is

the heavy slow breathing muffled by the wool blanket

as my father stands beside her and watches her sleep.  Love is

the same silhouette of my father standing above her at the wake,

the same look in his eyes, checking to make sure she will be alright.

And she will be.

The birth is the introduction and the death is the conclusion.

Happiness is the procedure of it all.  Happiness is

those specific detailed moments that never escape the forever growing gaps

of memory.  Happiness is watching your sister fight harder

than she ever has for one more day of life.  Happiness is knowing

she is going to be alright.  Happiness is smelling those dewy leaves

of red and yellow and remembering her.

Happiness is the procedure.  You can’t get it from the abstract.