Now is the time to stand your ground.
The time to bite down on rage,
feel it squirm between your teeth and smolder

the way a fire might smolder:
caught beneath a blanket of leaves and ground
waiting for its turn to rage.

When I heard, I looked for my rage.
Found it banked among the coals of my dignity. It could barely smolder,
had forgotten how to blaze. The birds of my wrath had gone to ground.

I have no ground for complaint; only the ashes of my rage, left too long cold to even smolder.