wait and hold

We have dropped down

into this crevasse with

snacks and a full freezer

to wait out what shows

itself, lumbers past in smoke

and heavy steps.  There

is a time to hold breath

and dreams and soup

close, unopened, but ready.

What I call patience

you call fear, but still

the angles we find,

the moments we baste

with a coating of hope

could be spent otherwise.

Keeping us safe might

also mean blind and some

slip or whittled prayer

will have to do.

Beth Konkoski is a writer and high school English teacher living in Virginia with her husband and two mostly grown kids.  Her poetry has been published in journals such as: The Potomac Review, The American Journal of Poetry, and Gargoyle. She has two chapbooks of poetry, “Noticing the Splash” with BoneWorld Press and “Water Shedding” with Finishing Line Press.  Exploring outdoors and playing with words on the page are two of her favorite ways to spend time.