Each night I wait.
I watch out the window.
I count cars
that appear on the road.
See their headlights grow
then dwindle as they
continue past on
two lanes heading north.
“If I count ten cars, he’ll come.”
“If I count twenty…”
I hope we will drive to the light
and talk and laugh
but he may not appear.
I sit at the window until
late, the night gone.
Disappointment’s my reward.
All evening
I'm held hostage to hope.
My job – suspense, submission.
His – choice and power.
WAITING 1963
Comments
5 responses to “WAITING 1963”
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Great poem Cindy. I remember that kind of waiting. You really captured it.
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This makes me feel sad…
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That really resonated with me. Very meaningful in so many ways.
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I so often felt powerless as a young girl. It didn’t help that we had no phone in our summer house.
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Thanks Suze.
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