Hope

It can be the

tiniest grain

wedged in

your shoe,

bringing the

whole of

your being

to a standstill

     bending

to untie the laces

and dig it out

into the day.

Other times

it is ferocious,

a biting thing

that latches on

with teeth of

needles. You

try, but cannot

slap it dead or

pluck it from

your skin.

Rarely is it quiet

or gentle,

for hope is fueled

half by truth and

half by fear of

what might happen

otherwise.