Skip to main content

Waiting for Her

 Sharing with The Sunday Muse #231



I’m waiting on her here, 
just leaning between shade, sun, and car door.
Gotta pickup here, back entrance. 
You’d never know that the sound
Washing against the city 
isn’t the ocean but a crowd. 
She’ll be here.
Just a few minutes more. 
We’re going to emptiness, some restaurant
Used to drive by, smell pepperoni and family, smell America.
Used to be. 
Dust and sunlight and old brick—
now serving a new album.
Do they have those anymore? 
Wax and silver? Great black speakers?
Roll over you 
like that crowd floods and puddles in the traffic noise.
She knows I’m waiting. 
Waiting for her. Waiting for yesterday.
She’s got a song about old starlight and I can feel it here
Sticking to the hot asphalt, 
fused in the shadows, 
staining windowsills.
Gotta wait. 
New starlight on the back of my shoulders, drowned in sound.

Finally seeing a little bit of fall weather and I've moved out on the patio to annoy the birds and pretend I'm in summer camp. Hoping you have a bit of that tucked-away-in-the-fresh-air calmness this week!

-- Chrissa

Comments

  1. Waiting for whatever reasons can be most frustrating. there are so much to rekondle in memory of good times together but the person is not there!

    Hank

    ReplyDelete
  2. Here we are having day-long rains. No fun for flood areas.
    Happy Sunday Chissa. Its interedting how busy his task of waiting is. It could be tiring too.

    Much❤lovr

    ReplyDelete
  3. Waiting for yesterday. I relate. Remembering that song about old starlight. I miss the days of stereos and turntables. Music has never sounded the same since.

    ReplyDelete
  4. It is like you have captured a moment and a time both at once here Chrissa. Absolutely beautiful!

    ReplyDelete
  5. How splendid your poem ... I sense his anticipation, his depth, waiting for yesterday.

    ReplyDelete
  6. "She knows I’m waiting.
    Waiting for her. Waiting for yesterday."

    Like many others. Love this, Chrissa!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

By the Roadside

  Sharing with The Sunday Muse #260  with much appreciation to Carrie & Shay & everyone. Just a reminder: if you have a poetry book, please drop a title in the comments. My TBR won't thank you, but I will. :)    I drive by the armadillos, dead where they fell. Sunlight is so heavy it folds into damp shimmers. All the roads are widening, dispersing the ditches, Grinding out parking lots, killing slow steps. I speed up; crisp winter in the passenger seat. We will arrive at the store soon; I will drag her Chill, into the store. Breathe for both of us. Brightness distorts the lots, now grown gigantic. Roads need blood, the state needs the kills. We will make it through barriers if we wear them: Dead armadillos, caliche dust, gunmetal sunshine.

Turn Away

  Sharing with The Sunday Muse , for #193. Turn away, like the moon, listening... Listening to the planet that rumbles with a hundred million slaps. All the feet, all the rockets, all the  pistons in the cars on the asphalt over the chasm where the veins run deep, blue in sunlight, black at night. Running over the chasm.  Once or twice they ran to you. Once or twice they ran by. Greetings and salutations. The sky is an entertaining shade of concrete yellow as the rain promised earlier in the week makes good on its arrival. It's a disturbing bright sallow sky, the kind of sky that puts you in mind of old movies and degraded film stock and the pops and crackles incidental to the main story.  Several years ago I made a resolution to journal more and last year I came across a video that suggested I actually re-read those journals, at least those of the previous year, at the beginning of each new year. Technically, I have kept the journal resolution, making daily notes in...

Need

  Sharing with this week's The Sunday Muse #184 . Come celebrate Halloween with verse and The Muse.  I don't think the lantern needed the day; I needed the night: Lit and close and dark and smelling of faraway fires. I needed the smoky flicker that darkened the late-season field I needed the thin linen dress someone else's jacket hides; I needed the nested shadow; not blue, clear sight. It's already a spooky weekend: one window wedged itself just open enough for the breeze to moan beneath, James heard a drone last night (according to him, circling and circling the neighborhood without lights), and our sometimes neighbors have started to set up their backyard for whatever festivities they're planning for Halloween weekend. So...tomorrow (Halloween) will be a good day to read through the books picked up at the local author Spooktacular hosted by a used bookstore not far from here and to say a few final prayers before NaNo begins. Also, celebrating another zine draft r...