It is in the small things we see it. <br />The child's first step, <br />as awesome as an earthquake. <br />The first time you rode a bike, <br />wallowing up the sidewalk. <br />The first spanking when your heart <br />went on a journey all alone. <br />When they called you crybaby <br />or poor or fatty or crazy <br />and made you into an alien, <br />you drank their acid <br />and concealed it. <br /> <br />Later, <br />if you faced the death of bombs and bullets <br />you did not do it with a banner, <br />you did it with only a hat to <br />comver your heart. <br />You did not fondle the weakness inside you <br />though it was there. <br />Your courage was a small coal <br />that you kept swallowing. <br />If your buddy saved you <br />and died himself in so doing, <br />then his courage was not courage, <br />it was love; love as simple as shaving soap. <br /> <br />Later, <br />if you have endured a great despair, <br />then you did it alone, <br />getting a transfusion from the fire, <br />picking the scabs off your heart, <br />then wringing it out like a sock. <br />Next, my kinsman, you powdered your sorrow, <br />you gave it a back rub <br />and then you covered it with a blanket <br />and after it had slept a while <br />it woke to the wings of the roses <br />and was transformed. <br /> <br />Later, <br />when you face old age and its natural conclusion <br />your courage will still be shown in the little ways, <br />each spring will be a sword you'll sharpen, <br />those you love will live in a fever of love, <br />and you'll bargain with the calendar <br />and at the last moment <br />when death opens the back door <br />you'll put on your carpet slippers <br />and stride out.<br /><br />Anne Sexton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/courage-8/
