Patience

What I thought was rust
turned out to be patience.

Morning light hits the metal fire escape
and I stop before I mean to.

Birds losing their minds out there.
I listen, despite myself.

Coffee warms my hands through the mug.
Steam rises.
I breathe it in like I'm thirsty for something I can't name.

Frost on the railing catches the light.
I don't know what to do with that much beauty before 8 a.m.

The city is waking up around me.
I watch from the window, unseen.

Light fills the room without asking.
I let it.

I'm still figuring out what today costs.
But I'm here on the fire escape, mug in both hands,
and the birds won't shut up,
and somehow that's enough.

--Vera