I have always been waiting for something else
 

Rooftops broken by years of rain,

sunshine breaching ceilings

where red tiles have been displaced,

and light only comes during the day;

a girl talks to a crow

and it lands on her hand,

she sneaks it bread every morning,

and it shows there's more

to life than what all the dull thinkers say.

​

a mother returns to a cooling cherry pie,

only to find a bed of fur, feathers,

and her husband roars from behind,

kisses her neck, shoulders,

a chariot lays smoke across the sky,

and later that peculiar evening,

she confesses that God can be no other

than a woman; he waves dismissively

but then thinks about it all night.

​

I entered an abandoned train station

and played a dusty piano

center stage;

awkwardly striking chords,

and embarrassingly

hid my face

only to hear a gentle whisper

failure is the only way

like the pen of a wise scribe

who's seen enough senseless wars

that they admire youth,

and despise the old men

who never had to suffer

their orders.

​

I tapped my finger

against a whiteboard,

waiting for students to

fill an empty classroom,

like a begonia garden

in the heap of winter

dormant until summer.