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The Waiting Room not double hospital gowns rumpled large as samurai robes nor forced laughter stretched smile nod of reassurance to herself nothing can hide how diminished she seems shrunken like an aged child by fear of the scalpel and anesthesia’s ability to render thoughts down to essence of smoke every surgery threatens death promises less though we pretend it’s an obstacle not a change in the cafeteria’s atrium I stare at dew speckling the overhead solarium windows green-shaded lights reflect on the side glass before a grassy courtyard studded with trees and benches uninhabited in the early morning sunlight fear removes all makeup glares to sight loose skin wrinkled hands hanging pouches under arms and eyes skin grows lines and moles thickens torsos looking at you I find a reflection of my own future I cannot explain why it doesn’t matter our train is not chugging out on a shiny track but lurching on rusted rails back to the station we tumbled into each other outside the club car while searching for coffee something to force us awake in our lives the track is loose with missing spikes and the tunnel much closer than we want to believe I stroke smooth your wrinkled face, pull your shivering form close to my warmth and we dance in the waiting room to songs of our own making Richard Krawiec has published 2 novels, a collection of short stories, a book of poetry, 4 plays and numerous stories, poems, essays, and feature articles. He has won fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts and the NC Arts Council. He teaches writing to people in homeless shelters, literacy classes, housing projects, and elsewhere. He teaches Beginning and Intermediate Fiction Writing as part of the Carolina Courses Online program for UNC Chapel Hill. He is the recipient of the 2009 Excellence in Teaching Award from UNC for these courses. Check out his website: http://home.mindspring.com/~rkwriter/ |
