Habit

You don’t need to swallow

the bitter drink of disappointment

even though it’s a habit

You don’t need to close your eyes and nod

while the gall spreads down your throat

and pools of it settle behind your eyes,

and your teeth grind together

in the misery of another brick in your wall

of small

You can set that cup down,

you can bow your head,

you can wait to be filled

the way water fills footprints

in shiny sand

You can insist

on drawing no conclusions

until joy rises up

to smooth your brow.

©Wendy Mulhern

July 15, 2016