Unlocked.
Left
Adrift
Gasping
Right
Ahead
Reaching
Looking aft
See waves
Batten down
Hard impact
This storm takes
I can’t give
Barely staying afloat
Shaking off metaphors
Grin and nod
Make polite conversation
This party
So farcical
People preening
Feeling superior
Drift
Dream
Smile
Almost
Endure
Escape
The wait is the best – and hardest- part
Looking out the window
As the train hurries by all the towns
No stops for me until the sun dips behind the hills
Then I’ll know you’re close
The thumping in my chest will grow strong and loud
My breathing will start to fog the glass
The blurry palette we pass evokes
A happy torrent of images
Hands
Smiles
Kisses
Memories flooding back
New plans forming
And all of that gets misted over
When the train pulls into the station
And I step onto the platform
Heart beating out of control
And then the familiar crinkle of your eyes
And I’m home
The worries are draped over me like fondant
The package may look delicious but hides a hollow inside
This isn’t the glamourous torture described
By painters and poets
We could not have possibly reached the end of our rope
Not when there’s so much slack to pull tighter
Some breath left to form the words
So close to the delicious pain
I want to stop but it’s beyond my power
Ar least not until I’ve wrung every drop
And can feel the end of our story
I’ll be left with my worries again
My favorite looking glass reflects you
I’m there too
I can’t help myself
All the conversations, social humming
Fade
All I see is the growing tide in your eyes
Without even a word
All that needs to be said is heard
Captive in the glass
Your gaze
Telling me tales
Spinning ideas
I’m trying to be collected
But my thoughts have been shuffled
To move or glance away is giving up
So I accept the challenge
Let you reel me in
While I let go, looking forward
Sitting in the waiting room
makes me wish for
privacy booths
Where I don’t have to pretend
to be idly passing the time
instead of waiting
with held, stilted breath
to find out if I’m a goner
Where I don’t have to engage
in furtive smiles of pity
or faux understanding
and be subjected to
out of date, tattered magazines
Give me a curtain I can draw
and a a quiet spot
blocking out diffused mood lighting
and pop songs turned elevator music
Waiting for the unknown is hard enough
without it being such a public display
My life’s about to change
I can’t sit here any longer
and pretend its another Tuesday
The Word Rummager 