Waiting I:

I waited by telephones

And then brought the telephone to me.

I looked at my nails, chewed brittle to the bone

And I lay my head beside the inbox.

This is the New Age of communication, after all.

My fingers stripped striped the keyboard

With the back of my thumb, like on a piano

But not music,

Just tap tap taps.

 

 

Waiting II:

I’d read a book called, “Waiting”

I smile wryly now, in recollection; in the conclusion of

How we inherit the discreet furniture of our lives;

Memory captured carelessly in sound, in sight, in scent.

 

I am covered in a patchwork quilt of losts and founds.

 

The punctuation of my existence

From moment to each moment

I have found in book titles.

In paperback.