From Jane Kenyon’s Waiting:
. . .And she will wait. Life is odd. . .
I too am waiting, though if you asked
what for, I wouldn’t know what to say.
What am I waiting for?
Besides the kettle to boil
so I can make myself a cup of that Wild
Sweet Orange tea we both like so much,
the UPS truck, Hannah’s bus,
for spring to come to the tangled trees
and vast fields of brown that look so much
like November.
I know I’m waiting for our trip to Italy
where we will feast on beautiful food and
ancient works of art painted on canvas and ceilings,
and drink as many perfect wines as we can
find, and afford; and where we will walk on sun-bleached
paths and look at water gleaming
like a smoothed out piece of tin foil,
or watch the beautiful people on their
passieggiata speaking in their beautiful tongue.
But what else?
For our children to grow and find their way,
and for a world that knows what I mean by
what I say and do rather than the errant
expressions that appear on my face;
for the perfect job, the perfect poem, the perfect
silver happiness one reads about in books?
Ah, there’s the whistle of the kettle.
That’s one thing, then.
I love this poem, and I love the idea of exploring the concept and meaning of waiting as my time on earth draws to a close. What am I waiting for that 60 years of hanging around has so far failed to provide?
And yes, the kettle boiling may just be the only thing that we can wait for with a reasonable hope that it will happen.
whistle of the kettle, wow?
stunning imagery…
love your work.
🙂
beautiful explorations on life and its cycles..
very well done piece.
you truly got talent here.
welcome share 1 to 3 poems with our poetry potluck week 31, ..
visit me to see the collections, click on the blue button on the bottom of the post to submit.
Happy monday!
This was such beautiful post !!
I love the transition in images .. smooth 🙂