After the Anger

After the Anger

The room after the anger has a kind of air all its own,
the sudden quiet of the aftermath and all the residue shown
of what was just consumed in the combustion of the thing,
after the anger, and the listening it brings.

After the anger, the strange territory of the done,
after the anger, the cooling of the run,
the residue and the wreckage and the clarity in parts,
after the anger, and the after often starts.

After the anger is where I’ve done some of my best work,
the things I’ve seen when the heat dissipated past the murk
of the active state of fury and the vision cleared a bit,
after the anger is where some of it fits.

After the anger I’ve been able to see what the anger was for,
the exact thing it was protecting and the score
of the underlying wound that it was covering with fire,
after the anger, and the after lifts me higher.

After the anger is not the same as never having burned,
after the anger is the territory I’ve earned
by going through the middle of the thing and out the end,
after the anger, and the after is my friend.