by on April 6, 2016 :: 0 comments

from my mother, i learned
to be the cat
at the top of the stairs

to lick my lips chapped,
and how to heal them;

to speak less, say more.

i learned a lifetime
of bracing yourself for impact
leaves permanent indentations
in the steering wheel,
handle bars,
your wrists,

and every mark
is a badge of honor,
on your face,
in your palms,
deep in the pit of your stomach,

if you wear it so.

i learned that oranges
are meant to be peeled slowly;

that a watched pot will boil,
but everybody’s afraid
to take the time to see it,


that somewhere,
right now,
the sun is rising
without ever needing to move.

editors note:

Patience and positivity. Yes! – mh clay

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