Waiting

I shall turn, with light brown hair around my shoulders,

And smile through pink light, with bright eyes and soft red lips.

And he will see me and remember.

I shall bow my head and thank God

For the passing of the dark odor of fever

And the blurred images of faces handing above my bed,

The long still hours of waiting,

The dry silent sobbing into nothing, to pass the night.

But mornings are sunny and cool and the evenings electric now.

He will come again and see me in the afternoon, in the afterglow

of four o’ clock, among the flowers. He’ll marvel to see me

walking.

Now in the sigh after fear

I look into the mirror–

Who is that wearing the image of my dress?

There am I in an old photograph,

Yet she has my hands, and my voice emerges from her mouth.

The music in my heart sings in the same key,

But those who sang with me before cannot hear, and I sing alone.

He will come and I, through pink chiffon or beneath a bonnet,

Shall smile from my heart,

And all the waiting will rush out in happiness.