Is it the steel of nerve,
the calm of the knight as his squire straps on his armor?
The breath whooshing out
as the swimmer takes her mark?
Perhaps it is going to take a board exam
even if you never feel ready,
or taking the blow from a man
three times your size and standing up again.
But tomorrow it is none of those things--
it is not war paint, or chants,
great speeches, or montages.
There will be no shaky fingers, or quivering lips, no rapid breaths or anticipation, or rising swell of courage
and will that breaks into a howl of bloodlust.
There is no fighting,
no kicking of ass. No.
I have fought this fight before,
and I know there is no winning.
Tomorrow will come punishing floods,
Unforgiving and unrelenting,
pouring into my body and into my bones.
And even with my best preparation
it will pound and tear through me until
I lay limp,
my being shaken out of me
like flour through a sieve.
I know this, as I lay down tonight,
and I will rise to meet it,
to survive it in the morning.
