In Waiting For


In Waiting For

A dozen times I waited for

the whispered word to lay

a foundation and rise up into the sunlight –


A thousand hours I have been

sitting, fixing the wheel, using the tools

at my disposal, subjugated to

this neophyte democracy, scheme

of constraint, holding vigil

to the past, in waiting.

In prayer, in the shower, behind broken

blinds, peering out, listening for the next move,

hearing a far-away crow, playground screams, idiot

conversations. A dozen times a dozen days playing

the sieve-taker, the monastic overseer, doing only

what the day allows, wondering where

the campfires burn and if they will ever burn

close, past midnight, for me.


Copyright © 2017 by Allison Grayhurst



First published in “Tuck Magazine” January 2017

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