Julia Dickinson ’22
Waiting Patiently Drip . . . I wait patiently, watching the smoke evaporate into the night. Drip . . . Lights pass, whizzing by in red and gold. The wind tickles me with his freezing fingers, And the leaves rustle beneath the full moon. Drip . . . The bus I meant to take comes and goes, But I stay in my place. I never color outside the lines. Drip . . . A figure emerges from the foggy darkness And floats to my resting place. I am frozen, both from cold and fear of what is to come. Sirens start wailing in the distance. Their power grows each second. Drip . . . The figure stalls, observing the statue I have become. I can see a face, a man’s, unfavored by age. His icy blue eyes pierce my soul. My nerves come alive. I have not felt this way in years. Drip . . . An invisible hand engraves words on stone. I fill with delight as I understand the meaning. The man falls into my embrace, And we touch until the sky splits. My hands remember his hands Although his have more memories now. Drip . . . He hears the water roll off the branch and hit itself, For it desires, like us, to become one. Reaching up, he brushes aside the branch That has watered me for many days. I am warmer than I have been since summer. He’s had hard 20 years without me 22
