Peace of Mind

Somewhere in the heat of the day there is peace of mind. The same sunlight on your shoulder blades and on your bare heels should touch your soul and bring a little peace of mind. But it’s January and the sky is the color of slate and patches that look like river water. Too cold and too fast and too much. And the cold is too much. And the wind is too fast. And there isn’t any sun on a day in January when the sun itself shies away. And the only peace of mind you get is a man on the street who asks if you want a piece of his mind. But his red eyes and hollow cough make you think twice. The man who sounded like he was drowning just walking down the street. You didn’t care to hear what was on his mind. And you just stepped into the gutter with this city trash to avoid his eyes. They were on fire and totally empty. Yesterday’s old news wrinkles and rots under your feet. You walk on elections and revolutions. You walk on awards and obituaries. You walk on life and death. And someone who didn’t know might think you were a king. Someone who didn’t know you had stepped into the gutter because you needed some peace of mind, not a piece of a drowning man’s mind. And January laughs at those who try to touch March and April. And the cold laughs at those who try to keep their shoes dry. And you see a couple too young to be bitter and too old to be embarrassed, and they’ve got a little girl by the hands. And she shrieks with laughter. And her gloves are nearly worn through. And you want to stop her and say, “Hey kid, where’d you get all that peace of mind?” But her little voice is busy laughing, and kids don’t call it peace of mind anyway. They call it “the infinite tomorrow” They call it the “every day” They don’t call it anything, because you don’t call everything something. You learn to hold it. And so you hold it. holditholditholdit And your gloves get worn through, yeah. But maybe that’s the price you pay for a little peace of mind