Today, nothing will be accomplished with
determined speech or concise fluid movements.   

In others words and to say it simply,
I am tired, tired of the constant icy grip in my neck,
of expectations, of politics, words that instill fear and confront.

I’ll listen to reason tomorrow.  Today I’ll pray for everything I am not.

As I reconcile, fear and doubt mix with the baneful on the news.
It spews a warning shot, so close, so close.  
I didn’t move. This is my holy ground.

The death chants evaporate
as the pure water comes to a boil on the stove.  
Free of demands and apocalypse, I sip my tea, then wait for sleep..

Suspended over the room,   
a whispered Amen. 
 
 
 © Joy Marsh