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Poem: Waiting for an Epiphany

WAITING FOR AN EPIPHANY

I am waiting for sunlight to stream through the clouds of political discord so I can speak to my friends again and I am waiting for them to remember we were once inquisitive children undefined by colors or directions or the evening news.

I am waiting for the resilience that must rest in genetic memory to shake this perpetual inertia and I am waiting for the world to remember Hiroshima and Nagasaki and the MeKong Delta.

I am waiting for a cup of black coffee to appear at my bedside on Sunday morning along with a quarter folded section of a real newspaper without coupons and I am waiting for that road trip to some terrain un-greened, full of hard dirt and bitter weed.

I am waiting for the white noise of open windows and the sound of absolute nothing and I am waiting for the lover from every best novel I’ve read to remind me of what I used to be and what I may never be again.

I am waiting for that guy from The Walking Dead to vanquish all the walkers and hopefully inspire Daryl to wash his hair and I am waiting for the earth to split open and spit out the mother of all epiphanies, the one that will remind us we are all still human.

Carly Bryson

This poem was selected for a poetry series in Silverbirch Press to honor Lawrence Ferlinghetti on his birthday.

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