Poetry

Photos we don’t snap – Poem

I’m looking forward to the next red light

so I can pull the mascara over lashes

hold dilly dally like it’s not mine, with

evidence that I neither chose it, neither could

prevent it. It’s an everyday dawn, a deeper

red light we brush off like cat dander. I aim to

delay arrival, the engine switch when I stop.

All the getting ready is worth far more than

the minute you are. Imagine seasons, watching

the lifeguard chair off the coast, the snow rising,

melting, giving way to the first day warm enough

to swim—the whole time, you wait you

imagine the joy beyond its truth. Your perfect

beach body, your happy family, potato salad

and a new lightweight volleyball set.   See it?

I do too, and it’s not even here.   But I am, and how lucky

to actually feel that. I’m looking forward to the next twenty

minutes when I can sit unsupervised at a desk

I neither own, nor care to own, when no one asks

me for anything, and I hear what I want myself.

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