Poetry, Sacred Space

I, too, am waiting…


I Am Waiting
A response to Lawrence Ferlinghettis’ I am Waiting

Preface: Since I have come to San Fransisco, every time I go by City Lights Bookstore, I walk in, hoping to meet my favorite writer, Lawrence Ferlinghetti.  I’ve yet to meet him, but this is a tribute to his influence as a poet and activist, and his magic still wandering this special city.  Thank you Lawrence.


I have been waiting for you, since I rebuilt my womb,
with my mother, singing love songs in our native tongue,
that being English, I had to wait to become…

until age 3, about the time I could walk,
I waiting to learn the meaning of the infinitive verb “to wait” to talk…

at five years old, I prayed for my imaginary friends to take their turns riding Disney dialogues descending from my VHS, quality poor, I waited for Cinderella to stop waiting for her slipper and dress, so, what were you waiting for?

Still chipper, I waited for my charming Prince since age 8,
when I met a kindergarten version of myself inside a boy who chased me around a room, still waiting for his charming princess bloomed non-the-less ideally raised,

I kept them waiting.

During puberty, when my belly button sunk below my chest,
and I figured out how to use my hips and breasts, to sway their eyes,
just so they waited just below my heart between my thighs,
I waited for you without even trying.

Hungry, I waited out high school, not even knowing your name,|
but knowing you saw me every day beneath your eyelids,
channeling frustration into my dreams, I waited my turn patiently
behind my peers, watching their melodramas unfold before my untold waiting,
four years, I waited for your res-erection to disseminate all the pretty girls out and turn
to me.

I waited through college dormitories, inside bathroom stalls, revisiting concert halls, scratching your name into desks beside classrooms walls, tail curled.

Since I was a little girl, I can remember,
waiting tables for $2.13 an hour
hoping you will tip me a piece of your heart off your sleeve,
or at least a phone number, for a good time fall PLEASE
so I can stop waiting on these frat boys, torn jeans, dread heads,
even a few women with dreams of happening to wait upon you.

And I am almost through, waiting on these city streets,
trapped in subleases the middle of the United States
with the world revolving around yours and my fate
and I still cannot, will not find your face waiting back at me

so I wait..

Frustrated with Ferlinghetti, sad as Green Days, waiting for Guffman
and other five-year-old fairy-talers who wait with me,
people waiting like sheep for promises made
purely for surround sounds at home
so that maybe you can find somebody
instead of having to wait alone.

I still sit on my couch at home waiting for the chick-flick to end
so my tears can rightfully begin to pour
and I can know that so many mes wait for so many versions of you
to walk through that City Lights door,
we are all bracing ourselves, waiting through hell’s horrors
and then taking a break from that wait just to wait some more.

Waiting on park benches, lattes and cigarettes in hand,
waiting to exhale time and time again, waiting and willing
our souls to transcend, just as bewildered as mine,
see me still waiting for you to find me

and I am happily waiting forever and after for our souls to transcend
for that matter, see me still waiting for the pretend to end in rapture
until I can completely give into Saturn and


I have been waiting for an epiphany.
For Abraham to finally talk to me.

Waiting for 2012 to bring wonder.
Waiting to meet my rain grandmother reincarnated into another…

See me still delving into the possibility of another virgin carrying the,
for I have been waiting on my knees for you, Manoe to take me PLEASE so WHAT?
Are you waiting for me?

I guess we will see?

Much love
they say
never dies
but prays
to above
for strength
in love
so I’ll wait.

With you. For you. Together. We’ll wait.



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