Patience

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

What is a moment? Where

does it begin? When does it end?

How does it spread itself across time?

I want to know if it is a line,

or a circle that has perfected storytelling.

I think that it can be the look in a doe’s

eye when she sees me seeing her

and we both lay down form,

like a sword, at our feet.

There is also the moon, how it comes

through the trees later that night, and

how the tree frogs will crawl, lanky-legged, out onto

the branches and trill lullabies to those

who believe that dreams aren’t just something

that happens to us while we sleep.

If I rush everywhere, as I’m prone to do,

I can’t find a moment,

though, logically, it’s there

in the company of so many others.

I don’t have time.

And, yet, I know the child of me walked in the woods,
and played in brooks,
and had long conversations with
friends that were never ever imaginary. 

So, that’s why I was there,
that late summer afternoon,
standing in the woods, praying for
patience to come back to me. 

And, that's why, in that moment, 
I was there, wondering 
what the doe had been praying for.

© 2018-2019/Jamie K. Reaser

From "Truth and Beauty" (a work in progress)

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