The Poetry of Carrie Teresa Sage

Two Waiting Rooms

1.
Peeking around the corner
you came to see me while I waited.
I was headed your way,
you headed mine--
Smells of engine oil and metal as we spoke of days past and present.
You said they told you your heart was old
I assured you they could fix you--
Like the "OZ" they would make you better,
you only have to go.
With sad eyes you said--
"but I'm eighty-years-old."



2.
A whole month went by --you decided to go,
weeks of testing and nothing on tv--
you made it through.
I put your recovery schedule in a binder for you-- 5 days and you're home bound.


5:30am ringing and you weren't waking up
Minutes seemed like months
I touched your forehead a lot,
and you lay still.
There were no stories in the lines and static on the screens above you.


Now I sit here-
sofas along the walls
with families hudled up in suspense
lots of coffee and endless nights
we all share in the hope


One last call from them--
There would be no more waiting.
Now it's you who waits for me.
Heaven is filled with many grandpas,
and now for me,
there is only time.

© Carrie Teresa Sage