By Annie Radillo

she was staring at the slice of
light that escaped below the door
blue and twisted like glass
the rustling of a starlings grey
feathers as shadows pulsed over it
every muscle in her eye sitting up
straight wondering if it would be her
shadow next that would obscure
the bit of light
if it would be her feet that would
pause outside the door and her
hand to pull it open
her face, solemn and thinking, that
would walk towards her

I have always been a very impatient person, and this poem recounts just one of the times I waited for something to happen. I still don’t know what.