Tag Archives: waiting

Robbed

Tell me
why
when
where
tell me how
you can love me
without knowing
what
when
where I am
right now
tell me how
you spend the days
knowing
I love you
knowing
you love me
tell me
where
when
why
you robbed me
of yourself
tell me how
tell me when
tell me why
your love
allows this distance
this absence
tell me how
to be patient
tell me
how to stand
how to lay down
without you.

Waiting

Like a prisoner
in a cell
I live in my imagination
because I can’t
walk into the world with you—
but in my mind
my dreams can make love
to my favorite memories
and for a moment
I exist in a kind of paradise
of happiness past—
that first night
around the campfire
where we celebrated life
with shooting stars
made of toilet paper rolls
and laughed so hard
the owls were beginning
to feel annoyed
and asked us
who who who
do you think you are
and in that moment we knew
exactly how to answer—
and nights like this
when I fall apart
in the absence of your love
I wonder
if I’ll ever see you again
and I begin to wonder
how many others
have loved so deep
they would walk
in opposite directions
with full faith
that they would meet again
on the other side of the barbed wire—
and by then
nothing
would be standing in their way.

 

 

 

DeMaris
10-14-18

Photo by Wilma Birdwell

Cancer Center

The waiting room
is without warmth—
grays and blues
and faces
lined with concern
sallow with fear
some of them
seeking answers
some of them
wringing their hands
with a knowledge
they hope
to radiate away
and it’s hard to tell
the difference
between
the body language
of the sick
and those
who are writhing
uncomfortably
waiting
for their loved one
to become a ghost.

 

 

 

 

DeMaris
12-19-17

 

Waiting Room

I am not impatient this time
waiting for my turn
to lay back in the chair and open wide—
there are children whispering loudly
and bells dangling from the door
announcing everyone’s exit and entry
but it all goes on without me
like the volume is turned way down
on just another reality TV show—
I am lost in yesterday.
I am full of the heat that followed us
into the woods and I can only hear
the song of the warblers,
those black and white ones
who provided our sound track
as we kissed on the fallen hickory—
and after I am rattled into alertness
by the sound of my name
I’ve got nothing to do for 15 minutes
but close my eyes
and let both my hands rest on my belly
while I consider where you’ve touched me—
and I don’t even need five fingers to count
the number of times we’ve made love
but in this noisy and populated darkness
I am alone with your body
and we are filling up our hands.

 

 

 

DeMaris
6-12-17

 

 

Still Life

The thing is—
he could
he can
he does
cut me open
sometimes
just by leaving
me alone
when the space
between us
begs to be
closed
reduced
punctuated
by a word
or a promise
of nearness
but there is
so much
silence
emptiness
doubt
filling me up
I don’t know
if there will be
room for him
when he—
if—
he decides
to come.

 

 

 

 

DeMaris
4-18-17

“Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog” by Caspar David Friedrich, 1818