Each night I walk observing
graves tended and untended,
order and disorder. My head-
stone is blotched with moss
and lichen, my brief story blotted
out. I shimmer in the silver moon-
light, skim long grass and weeds
dusted with dandelion and thistle seeds
between lych gate and porch,
where closely-mown grass scorched
over summer. Tiny flowers spread
there, a quilt on which to lay my head
and wait for eternal sleep to come
where not bees but night-time traffic hums.
Kim M. Russell, 17th September 2019
My response to dVerse Poets Poetics: Waiting for a poem
Sarah is our host this Tuesday; she asks how much of our time we spend waiting for things to happen and how much we spend hanging in the pauses between events, the gaps in our lives – questions to make us think. She says that some waiting is good, and filled with anticipation, while other kinds of waiting are not so good, like waiting for waiting for the dentist to pop his head round the door.
Today, Sarah would like us to write poems of anticipation, maybe hoping for something wonderful, afraid of retribution or just desperate to get off, away or on with something.