People like to ask me
“Why do you always smile?”

I shrug
“I'm just happy”
Is my practiced reply

But underneath the glossed lips and
Flushed cheeks and
Flattened hair

An avalanche
So formidable and
So cold and
So fragile
Threatens to overflow. No.
To bubble up. No.
To climb up the glass ladder of my throat
Onto the roof of my mouth

I must reside in my very own
Town or
State or
Country
Because the ice around my convulsing heart
Shatters into a kaleidoscope of
Cascading raindrops and
Snow pellets and
Lit matches and
Fired bullets
That solely falls on me

My little sister asks
With her pigtails bouncing up to the mountain's peak
“Why do you always smile?”

I shrug
“I'm just happy”

My sphincter shuts
Practice always makes
Perfect