Waiting

propped at a stop sign
sleepy and shifting in a ceaseless rain
I nod in solemn acceptance
to a dark and docile morning

January claws at my cheeks
bites at my nose
street lamps murmur and hum
casting broad galaxies
upon the shadowy face of the road

twin comets scream
flashing tails of rubber and steel
oil-spill nebulas shiver in their wake
and my breath disappears
swallowed whole by the universe before me

a house, small and gray
comes alive across the street
an explosion of light
we watch, every one of us

the waiting

as an old woman
short hair, faded bathrobe
enters the frame
our window to her world

she runs the tap
carries the kettle to the stove
infuses the fragrant leaves
pours for herself an ashen mug
of the steaming soothing tea
and she looks out at us
this collection of reddened faces
across the road

the waiting

wishing, every one of us
that we stood not here
but sat in there
in her kitchen
at her table

waiting

for our old friend
to pour the tea

-jkh