...at rest,
composed,
with thoughts unspoken,
emotions quiet and controlled...
Can yet be
transformed
in the briefest second of a given time
into a yell of triumph
sent ringing o'er the mountaintops,
announcing we have won our prize
or with a shout,
commanding,
setting battle into motion
where effort spent
demands a roar along
to send our tired limbs
encouragement
and to point the way
that danger lies
so we recognize...
we realize
who is enemy
and who friend.
And when we meet the floor face-down
in a moment, paused,
long with recovery from sudden pain,
and it would seem
our hopes lie buried
on both sides of where we lie...
...yet...with a weary smile
we rise
and in the shadowed light
of a captive day
we lick our tired lips
despite the falling
of a rain,
cold and silent,
running down our chin
and gather in our souls
and in our hearts
and in our minds
our plans,
the way that we will go,
and words,
whispered for no human ears to hear,
and set our chins
with determination,
grim and firm,
resolute to do
no matter how alone
no matter what the cost
or the sudden horror of the pain
or the straining strength it takes
to keep our heads
lifted to the wind.
Even though not understood
and carried bodily from our way,
there remains...always...
that moment
quiet and composed,
where, in quiet knowing,
we have arrived
at the truth of things
where comfort lies
and even laughter,
full-bodied,
from the heart
and love looks back at us
in those places
where mice nestle in our grain
and makes the winded effort
and the death of pride
and all the moments lost
as we were carried,
wounded, far away
and what we'd hoped...
all that we'd dreamed...
seem lost in some well
too deep to see its end...
...all, yes, all of it is taken
by the coming of the blessed rains
and we are nourished
...our spirits fed...
suddenly able
no matter...
the what...
or even yet the where...
to let go
of everything we hold,
everything holding us,
and let our lips curve upwards toward our bloodied cheeks,
to smile,
and smile,
to shout with full-blown laughter,
with joy and all things good,
with accomplishment,
and in the quiet peace of it...
...to sing.
Jo Anzalone