a habit comes to its end
when mirrored - if you let it
if the distress of keeping it
nurturing it
doesn’t **** you first
the brain doesn’t let go easily
produces obstacles
relentlessly
forcing a reckoning
a picking apart
a loss of what was

when the releasing ends
justice floods in
pushes the habit off its mooring
ungently
crashes it into the prison walls
breaking it apart to make
a puzzle of it and
sorting begins:
does any of it fit anymore?

justice completes the reckoning
sorts the habit’s habits
into piles
and crushes them to dust
dust to dust to nonexistent
who is this being now?
no one
everyone
potential
as a child is potential
while the glory of the habit
of the Ichabod
becomes anonymous
and the Heart takes over


c. 2024 Roberta Compton Rainwater