snow has poked itself into the foundation of the house
skimped scarf that has done little
to ward against burrowing winter waiting for final blow
we wait we have been waiting for something
all our lives we have tapped toes staccato’d fingernails
against granite tops against wooden grain against holes being dug
for sometime-fenceposts for second comings and third comings
and goings waited for men who roll boulders waiting
wrestling with worry over family coming over hills
over passes through woods to grandma’s house
we wait for oven timers to go off for sun to come out and melt snow
for energy enough to shine floors and boots and windows
for gray days to end for someone else to load the dishwasher
to make a meal to understand
strong women cannot always do everything on their own
we wait for words to define aches that have nothing to do
with joy and yet waiting for joy to sustain itself
like winter keeps at least one pile of snow in crooks
of branches of our trees waiting stoically
to be freed of all grips of life’s chaos waiting
for messy life to sort itself out waiting for a pain
to go away or a thought or a fear
that wheedles at corners of eaves on a blizzard storm
waiting for sounds of first birds to replace
cheerful chirping of snowbirds waiting
to hear pandemics end waiting yearning
to dive into the wreck knowing
every goodness is but a thought away from tragedy
knowing waiting for everything is like waiting
for a pot to finally boil over burn pot dry
knowing full well that if we do not pay attention
all kinds of chaos can happen and probably will
so we store up bits of goodness like squirrel
squirreling away things for later use
then forgetting where she put them and a chance dig
later might uncover something bountiful that can be used
that can save her waiting for the next storm
impending doom and finally stepping ahead
to get the wait over
©Carol Desjarlais published in Kerouac 100th anniversary..beat poets collection dec 2022
No comments:
Post a Comment