Patience is

granular like sugar,

and every child hungers for it

the same way that tongues crave sweet,

darting out from parted lips,

darting like small boys into traffic or towards sharp sticks,

always used with the poorest of judgment

(which is also how wars begin)

 

and if it had color,

it would be milky and soft,

and quite the opposite of the vermilion rage

that springs with sudden heat and sting

like a rash along the slender,

tender curve of a throat

provoked for the hundredth time

by the lollygagging, jelly-boned determination

to find exactly where the line is drawn;

 

and it is feeling the clean hard click of teeth meeting and words held

or shoving fists into pockets

or maybe after gripping a sticky palm

a little too hard,

it is to inhale again softly and notice the way the chickadees

have returned to the woods, and how the light is mellow

like honey in a jar

-poem by {my topography}

~ by Robin on October 23, 2009.