Spice

A poem where I had a difficult time with the title.

“Spice”

Moments are seized by anchors,
stones stacked high into monolithic effigies of pause.

In arm’s reach it taunts, bites, laughs at hesitation.

It is within from the beginning.
Planned.
It will strike mercilessly.
Halting my hands, staying my tongue, shutting my eyes and turning my guts.

Its recipe is failure, its presence overwhelming.

To strive is
to stomach it.