While I’m waiting, I am
Distilling neon signs in a drop
Of rain, nearby the rushing
Of the world’s many neurons,
Held by the weight of stillness:
The back and forth and back of
This daily game of hide-and-seek.
While I’m waiting to go inside,
I’m frozen—hidden—alone.
While I’m waiting, I am
Pouring my focus out to see
If the droplet intentionally set
Before my eyes, and suspending
From the bending branch, can hold
The light close with some success.
I then can see now where I need
to be in this long-captured moment:
Distilled, held, and embraced.
And in the end, I am found out.
The light and I have no choice
But to be bent, and rounded,
By the raindrop’s surface—and I
Watch as it shivers in the evening
Breeze off the highway, breathing
The fumes of winter passing through.
And sure enough, I shiver with it.
And while I wait, I feel alive.
Dwelling deep in the forests of New England, Graham spends most of his time reading, taking walks with his dog, and learning new and interesting things (and reveling in cooler, more temperate climates). Born and raised in the Boston area, Graham was homeschooled from an early age. After high school, he proceeded to get a bachelor’s in Literature from Patrick Henry College in Northern Virginia. He currently resides in the Boston area while pursuing a master’s in Education at Gordon College, steeping in the rich history of his home turf and a continued exploration of literature from across the world. He says you should read Alan Paton’s Cry, the Beloved Country and Chaim Potok’s The Chosen, because they are incredible novels. Also, read Robert Frost.
This. is. fire! You use imagery and diction so well. The last line is beautiful, “And while I wait, I feel alive.”
I love this because I hate to wait, but now I see it has a purpose.