because while some truths lend themselves to equations, others are best described in verse

sitting, two years later,

in the james center starbucks, i
am distracted by the business
which parades in suit, by
the slow, slow sound

of winter dying, its feeble thuds
keeping time with my own unarmed
chest. there is a meek half-light
outside the windowed-walls,

the sun un-warm & indecisive.
i am afforded a first-class view
of the parking garage,
the crimson-awninged atm,

the bundled cafe umbrellas.
i am waiting, brokenly:
for a car crash, for a lightning strike,
to see someone i recognize.

for you to catch hold
of my cheek and say, come,
let me take you home.
it is more limbo than

purgatory, the waiting;
there is no redemption at its end,
only the promise of a flatter
mattress and yellowed teeth.

as the poet said: there
is evening, there is morning,
and i think i loved you better
when we were

desperate. besides i
quit being a good catholic
years ago, now only
remember my rosary

when digging through
the jewelbox for a gold
chain you also didn’t give me,
also years ago.

This is kinda a re-make of a poem i did about two years ago, posted wayyy back here.

32 responses

  1. I really enjoyed the tone of the poem…just the right level of bitterness woven into it.

    February 26, 2013 at 1:45 pm

    • the right level of bitterness… yes. thanks, slp.

      February 27, 2013 at 10:52 am

  2. we don’t mark time so much as it marks us

    February 26, 2013 at 1:51 pm

  3. e

    More than a decade later, I repeatedly make the attempt, only to fall again and return to the waiting.
    Funny thing, I no longer know what I am waiting for, as what I envision seems to no longer exist.
    I am not sure that it ever did…


    February 26, 2013 at 1:56 pm

    • it sounds sad when you put it that way, eric. but i think it is true for so many: we are all waiting, and a lot of us aren’t even sure for what, most days.

      February 27, 2013 at 11:08 am

  4. I love this. Thank you.

    February 26, 2013 at 1:58 pm

    • thank *you,* Sweetie!

      February 27, 2013 at 11:45 am

  5. A perfectly timed poem. With the dreary weather to set the stage for the word pictures you wove so beautifully. I particularly liked:

    the sun un-warm & indecisive

    it is more limbo than

    purgatory, the waiting;
    there is no redemption at its end,


    February 26, 2013 at 2:24 pm

    • thank ya, lady! πŸ™‚

      February 27, 2013 at 11:59 am

  6. This poem had a perfect tone – wistful, maybe malcontent, honest – I loved it, especially the ending.

    February 26, 2013 at 2:54 pm

    • thanks, goldberry. you’re too kind!

      February 27, 2013 at 12:02 pm

  7. It is more limbo than

    purgatory, the waiting
    there is no redemption at its end,
    only the promise of a flatter
    mattress and yellowed teeth…..Joanna, I love the lines…the desperation, the realization . Sad …it draws me in, good write. I like the mention of the rosary and not being a good catholic and digging for the chain that was never given.

    February 26, 2013 at 2:57 pm

    • thanks, ayala. always appreciate your thoughts!

      February 27, 2013 at 12:07 pm

  8. for a car crash, for a lightning strike,
    to see someone i recognize….and i think i loved you more when we were desperate….ugh….it is different…waiting sucks…stuck in limbo as well…been there …and its not a lot of fun….

    February 26, 2013 at 3:29 pm

    • thanks, b. waiting does suck… sometimes. *smiles*

      February 27, 2013 at 12:25 pm

  9. As always, you make the longing, the razor sadness a gorgeous, enviable state. It’s limbo, of course, and the Catholic iconography only helps to underscore how dear and true this pain is to your soul. A flatter mattress and yellow teeth – bril, as is the closing – where we all spend many years still looking for the fantasies that were never there to begin with. Please post a pic of you wearing your La Poetessa tiara. Loved this and the massive talent what wrote this – Mosky

    February 26, 2013 at 3:40 pm

    • isn’t that a poet’s job, to make the sadness an enviable state, to make the pain, art? sublimation is what we do, Mosk. πŸ™‚ thanks for your always too-kind estimation. and i am still looking for that right tiara. πŸ˜‰

      February 27, 2013 at 12:31 pm

  10. Love this piece, awesome imagery.

    February 26, 2013 at 5:32 pm

    • thanks Kim, or Lisa. πŸ™‚

      February 27, 2013 at 12:31 pm

  11. There’s a wonderfully jaded, world-weary romanticism to this. I like the juxtaposition of familiar references points with the deeper resonances of the narrative.

    February 26, 2013 at 6:25 pm

    • thank you, Dick. that first part of your comment, “wonderfully jaded, world-weary romanticism,” feels like it about sums me up these days, perfectly. if i ever get this next collection of poems together, will you do me a review? *smiles*

      February 27, 2013 at 12:37 pm

  12. Something about this piece conveyed a well-worn familiarity, like I was in conversation with an old friend. This was beautiful, and sad– the quiet sadness you feel in the midst of the realization you are growing older; have already left so much behind.

    February 26, 2013 at 7:04 pm

    • thanks, Ursa. it always means much to hear that something you write finds resonance with someone who reads it. *smiles*

      February 27, 2013 at 12:55 pm

  13. Acres of great lines – “winter dying” ones being my favourite. That’s just special writing.

    February 26, 2013 at 8:36 pm

    • acres, eh? thank you, wanderer. *smiles*

      February 27, 2013 at 1:03 pm

  14. scotthastiepoet

    Brave and beautiful – glad you dug it out…

    February 26, 2013 at 9:00 pm

    • thank you, scott

      February 27, 2013 at 1:12 pm

  15. indieflower

    Really good. I especially like this: “the sun un-warm & indecisive”

    February 27, 2013 at 12:57 am

    • welcome and thanks, indieflower!

      February 27, 2013 at 1:17 pm

  16. Samuel Peralta / Semaphore

    This verse walks an infinitely narrow tightrope stretched above a sea of bitterness. I am in admiration of the images and metaphors, from the impersonality of suits, to the wayward rosary accidentally discovered. Beautifully crafted.

    February 27, 2013 at 5:55 pm

    • thanks so much, Samuel. high praise, from one such as yourself.

      February 27, 2013 at 11:05 pm


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