Is it a Virtue

photo  by Pexels

I grew up in a hustle, a bustle,
a quickness of living and mind.
Like delighted squirrels, we chased
in a tree of endless branches.
Only in sleep was there stillness.

So in the upstairs corner bedroom
with the window that let me hear the river,
I dreamed the peace I needed.
But patience, that was something
foolish, crazy, foreign.

A language to be laughed at.
Something for slower beings.
A supposed virtue with no action
to prove its existence.
So hidden a nut, it was only a myth.

No patience. No wonder
serenity took me this long.
Why covet such a colorless
lack of passion? Why indulge
in boring tolerance, restraint?

Why practice doggedness when
I was as skilled as an Olympic at
the true pleasures of jumping and shouting?
I never signed on for the curriculum,
but late in life, patience showed up.

A teacher who called for stillness,
and me a squirrel with a tattered old tail
sitting in my tree, looking around, surprised!
Was all this beauty always here?
Composure felt like the peace of sleep.

It’s night, I hear a river slowly bubbling by.
I hardly recognize the self so forbearing
who savors the nut in my squirrel hands.
I have time for kindness, oh! I sit with
a moment, a moment that expands.

©Susa Silvermarie 2026