Making it

Making it


Slowing down to make it through
doesn’t work
when slowing down
turns into stopping.
When resting for a minute
turns into crumbling
until tomorrow.
When limbs are strong enough
only long enough to build
and start again.
Well-meaning hands on my exhausted soul
tell me it is okay to pause.
Those hands urge me
to have more Mary
and less Martha.
Those hands don’t see
the course of my day.
Twisting and winding,
working hard to climb up
only to end with rushing back down.
Then I’m left staring at the next hill,
feeling beaten again.
Those hands don’t know
that I want to stop.
I want to crumble,
but I’m forcing myself to hurry
because too much else will fail
if I slow down
and stop.