:::::
:::
:
Odds are...one, or two in ten,
the easy feel of a Sunday morning
can be ruined...a wrong move, or,
a wrong word, hits a raw nerve, and
wakens dormant embers of anger.
It makes one sweat even in January,
when it's usually cold and breezy.
Cooler minds patiently try to
neutralize tension-filled moments,
they soften rigid tempers, painting
light blue over red...it's like defusing
a bomb that would explode soon,
it's like treading, tiptoeing on thin ice,
it's a sink-or-swim thing...
Blowing off hot steam takes long...it's
hard to keep warm spaces in between,
when frozen, stinging air from the
past...lingers still
How exhausting! but it can be most rewarding,
when cold winds take over, to heal angered,
hardened hearts...when the warmth of
peace steadily creeps, and conquers all.
:::::::::::
:::::::
:::
:
"Pass the pastis, please," i spoke
to myself, as i raised both legs on my bed,
so relieved, a storm had passed.
it was good to be in my room,
alone...
sally b
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
February 8, 2021