Anticipation

By Violet Russell

Frostbit cheeks, 
slices of leftover 
apple pie, my legs 
quiver like a fawn. 
I’m waiting for you 
To call me by my name, 
standing out on the 
front porch steps. 

All night, I wait for 
your recognition, 
I'm waiting for a reply 
I never called out for, 
too tired from the nights 
before, before, before.

Listening to the gutters 
moan, straining against 
heaven's weight, 
waiting until it's 
quiet enough to 
hear the upstairs 
radiator's thrum, 
it's lonely here, 
isn't it? 

Light scatters into 
crocodile print, 
a road glazed in 
frost, a wayward 
airplane scrapes 
the skim off the
dark cream sky, 
and I am still 
Waiting, waiting, waiting.