waiting

 you wait for test results. 

sit in a waiting room 

look at the door, stop looking, look 

at your phone 

see nothing. 

you are one in a million 

women in a million 

waiting rooms tapping her toe

taking shallow breaths. you know 

you are only temporary and yet 

you cannot help loving yourself. 

you know you are nobody 

special but you love yourself 

anyway. you know this moment 

on which everything hinges 

is nothing special 

but you hold your breath 

anyway. you know 

if you’re fine you’ll go back to taking it all 

for granted anyway. you know 

if there's a diagnosis you’ll do everything 

you can to hold on 

to this little life like a single 

brown leaf on an otherwise bare tree 

in a straight line wind

rippling furiously, a crinkled flag refusing 

refusing to let go. you know 

if you let go 

there are at least three people whose lives will change forever.

a dozen or more who will grieve 

for a not-insignificant portion of their tiny lives

another hundred, maybe, who will consider 

the news unfortunate, and maybe 

hug their families a little closer for a night.

you also know 

you have tens of thousands 

of ancestors whose names 

you don’t remember you never knew you never thought about 

who died in tens of thousands of ways 

who dreamed tens of thousands of dreams, 

not one of which was a dream of you, here, now. 

yet you dream.

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