"Two Postures," A Poetry Post

When I first learned to suffer,
I used to lock my jaws in response,
hold my breath and grit my teeth,
squint my eyes and
force a mechanized smile.

Cheese.

I increased my walking pace and
worked late,
anticipated the pains of
disappointment and disillusionment
so I could
wince early,
sat up watching trilogies and
stretched out lethargically across my
king-sized bed to
worry quietly
at night.

I traded the cathartic for the
arthritic and immobilizing stasis of
denial.

Today I suffered better.
I breathed deeply.
I spoke slowly, and
every facial expression--
though well intentioned--
was honest.

I walked slowly and
planted my feet heavily,
wore my relaxed fit brassiere,
spent the day saying to God,
"I sure feel worried... I sure feel worried...
I sure feel worried, but I know You can see me."

I worked hard but I left early,
came on home and slept,
slept, slept...

Got up again to face that situation.

Hello. I see you there. 

Started over. 
Breathed deeply.
Planted my feet heavily.
Smiled. Meant it.
Just kept moving,
but in that suffering speed.

That's how you drive around a curve in the dark.

You don't speed up and
hold your breath like a
teenager on a
Saturday night joy ride.

You slow down and
look off to the
right shoulder knowing that
oncoming traffic will be
blinding and uncomfortable
for just a moment. 

You don't pull over and cry because you
met with a curve.

You just
adjust
your driving.

-T. D. James-Moss