My Garden of Matches
I hold back on the let go,
chase words to the corner
of my cheek so they can’t
reach my tongue.
It isn’t easy in the pressure cooker
when pain reaches the boiling point.
Tamp it down…Lock it up…The agony of other souls
doesn’t need the added weight of my struggle.
When withers in its question like yesterday’s cut roses.
For now, I must water the matches, prune the flames
from patience until it is my time to be heard.©Susie Clevenger 2020