I passed over,
Wasn’t just a way of saying, no thanks, you have the rest
Or I don’t eat that:
It was my fear of sitting still with the sweetness
And letting the icing dissolve on my tongue.
Slowing & savoring seems dangerous, even on Saturdays,
Especially on Sundays.
It’s like eating the whole heaping slice,
Then propping up my feet in the midst of the whole gathering
Of talking, laughing, enjoyable people.
I close my eyes and rest my head on the back of the big
Cozy chair as the conversation hub-bubs around me
And I doze for a good long while.
I think I will, after all.
What does a good rest look like for you? More from 31 days of poetry.