Waiting

I’ve come home to molding fruit

cold air it’s because I’m rarely here

not to worry in a week or so

I’ll have a new home

empty rooms I’ll fill

with the remnants again of a life had

for 18 months and now this

the true break     for some reason

this place feels like a holding port

the base of God’s hands

not purgatory where I’ve waited

like the poor with ear infections

in the ER waiting room

like me with an ear infection

in an ER waiting room

my name has been called

and the ear drum has already burst

I’ve let the liquid slide down my neck

again     ill box up what I want

give away what I don’t.

My name has been called.