Gentle Power Returns

I used to answer everything immediately,

like my worth was measured in response time.

Even my laugh felt scheduled.

~~

I kept a mental checkout line

of other people’s emergencies,

and paid with my sleep.

~~

You called me “reliable”

the way some people say “useful.”

I wore it like perfume.

~~

Then my body got blunt—

headaches, a jaw like a locked drawer,

Sunday dread arriving on Friday.

~~

I started saying no

in small handwriting,

without the apology paragraphs.

~~

I let the phone ring

while I watered my basil

and watched it lean toward the window

like it had all the time in the world.

~~

I ate dinner sitting down.

Not heroic, just new.

~~

Somewhere in the quiet

I met myself again—

not shiny, not fixed,

But finally not volunteered.

~~

Power, it turns out,

can sound like a soft door closing

and still be love.