Waiting

*

for my time to turn crimson, to curl in

on itself and drop

or else grow plump and green and turn

back toward the sun

for remission or recurrence or RIP

for casual conversations, uncovered

a hug from mom and dad or a friend or even a kind nurse

for infection or a vaccine

for an end, whatever that looks like

(I’m not alone)

so easily the road unraveled before

and our laughter with it

then life and our many plans

then a country

waiting

for another election

for justice for all

for affordable health care

for something claimed

to become something true

(I’m not alone)

on Facebook, many of those complaining

about Republican voter suppression tactics

are the same ones who were silent

during the 2016 primaries when Democrats

were using those same tactics against their own

when a Democrat was dropping bombs

and surveilling and deporting

and prosecuting whistleblowers

and those who told me to vote for HRC

because she’s a woman

who deny my gender and call me a gender traitor

are flipping their script

in the face of Amy Coney Barrett

and those who spent so many comfortable years

doing absolutely nothing

demand now we all DO SOMETHING

and I voted knowing they’ll return to silence

when the current dumpster fire is put out

but cops continue to murder POC

and people continue to die waiting

for justice for all

and affordable healthcare

while Democrats continue to help Republicans

add fuel for the next dumpster fire

waiting

for all the fires to burn out

for my hair to grow back

and walks to be longer and pain-free

while toxins continue to accumulate

in food, in water, in my blood

waiting

for karma to swing back

like the boomerang in Sherlock

and inflict suffering on those who cause it

for the blood on their hands to finally be their own

what I wouldn’t give

to sit next to DT as they intubate him

and tell him, none of your pain is real,

your impending death is just a hoax

and no one who loves you

will be here by your bedside

to sit in the same chemo room as RL

and watch the nausea overtake him

when they set the saline on the tray,

to have been with him in that room

when the doctor said your power can’t save you,

to smirk in the face of his suffering

as he’s smirked so many times,

and tell him this is your God’s will

your kingdom come

(I’m not the only one)

waiting

for the wrong people to stop apologizing

I’m not sorry

for wishing ill on those who destroy

on those who support them

on those who profit

because they aren’t sorry

for doing ill

waiting

for the earth to finally shake us loose and start over

or collapse, taking us with it, a light blinking out

because those in charge don’t believe in climate change

these hands haven’t done enough

they’ve been complicit, useless,

too small

all this time, time–

no matter whether opening or holding or loving or grieving–

has been a weapon

waiting

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