Waiting for Edward

 

Sitting in the lobby, watching the clock
my mind is scattered, confused I guess
too hot, too cold,
I’m sorry what did you say?

It’s raining outside,
dreary, cold Chicago
“it’s the town that won’t let you down,”
Frank digs it.

Sinking into the crimson couch,
watching the doors
open and close,
open and close,
open and close.

I check out the parade–
proud fathers with virgin daughters,
little boys with boutonnieres,
awkward girls in grown up dresses

hurry, hurry, hurry,
running back and forth.
High heels, flip flops,
wet sneakers squeaking on the tiled floor,
so many people from so many different places.

Why are they all here?

I watch as a familiar face rambles by,
Vegas is where I saw him last,
–or was it Nam?

Fading stars
saunter about
hoping for a glint in someone’s eyes.
Their smiles frozen, as in more youthful days,
they too, join the parade.

Picking up a magazine,
Rolling with an old Stone, carefully turning each page.
I spy the one who is hitching a ride on a cloud,
or is it this one?
How many times have I read this paragraph?
Is everybody in?

The angel is tired, so tired,
gallantly pressing on–
a brief stop to comfort a friend then
once again strapping on wings
getting closer
and closer
and closer.

It’s almost time…
I can’t breathe.
I cover my chest with my hands
trying to keep my heart from giving me away.
The dream is about to come true.
Stay cool.
I can do it,
–relax.

Deep breaths
in and out, slowly, slowly…
I can’t think,
a few more minutes–
Oh my god– literally.

Blushing,
giggling,
shaking,
like a little girl with an adolescent crush.
Someone is coming–
quick, ditch the glasses.
Who is that?
The Domino’s pizza guy?
How could someone order pizza at a time like this?

Epilogue
No luck tonight,
the angel needs to rest.
Tomorrow’s a new day.
Sweet dreams…

 

sc2009

Tagged poetry, Shelli Carlisle