Vigil

I am waiting quietly with my hands folded, watching as a toddler sleeps, waiting for the short bus as it winds through dirty streets and sitting in waiting rooms with magazines and paper cups with bad coffee on a cold, cold day. Not saying what you really need to hear and waiting for you to come to it, the truth I see so plain. I am joy right  now, wishing for later, waiting waiting waiting. Waiting is a dream, plowing hard rocky land and patting it down again, watching, waiting for rain and taking a long, deep breath and waiting again. I am silent and unrequited. I do not move.

 

Love is a vigil, old hands and a disinfectant smell and pants that used to fit, and a filing of memories good and bad, no I will not forget they are right here in my pocket and I promise to take them out once in awhile so you do not disappear. I am here and I do not move, I do not forget and I am waiting, waiting for you to speak, to walk, to come to your senses, to take flight, waiting for you to die. When you are gone you will wait for me, with longing, with love.

 

I am love, I do not sway. I breathe, I wait, I watch. I do not disappear.