PRACTICING PATIENCE

Practicing patience?
I practiced patience
on the gravel playgrounds
of third grade
waiting for the scaredy cat
to drop
or finish her hand-over-hand.

Practicing patience?
I practiced patience
on the starlit backseats
of teen love
anticipating a hand inside
my sweater
but brushing it back when it came.

Practicing patience?
I practiced patience
on the antiseptic gurneys
of motherhood
hearing “Don’t push” warnings
and knowing
that’s all I wanted to do.

Practicing patience?
I practiced patience
in the suffocating schedules
of married life
finding Durkee’s oregano for
special spaghetti
never tasting the results.

Then you asked me to
Practice patience again
as I was cast into
wrenching grief
deepest, darkest despair.
Staying with me
practicing patience.

Practicing patience?
Now I’m practicing
inside the soothing sanctuary
of my Master’s garden
digging out worms of worry
bugs of bitterness
planting instead love seeds.

In My Garden Quilt