Waiting for you in the afternoon
I imagine you, your tiny toes curled,
Your breath anxious, wanting to see me soon
Yet trapped in a taxi, your hope unheard.

How then should I wait for you as hours pass?
Should I rage or weep? or, with stoic calm,
Check my watch and order another glass
As I grasp the prayer beads in my palm?

Perhaps I muse that we are instruments
Flicked and clicked like the beads my fingers shift
But in some larger string.
Perhaps you come to me, perhaps you are sent,
Perhaps you’ll stay, perhaps you’ll be swift;
We’ll see what the beads bring.

This entry was posted in Sonnets.

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