Might Be Baby Wright

I don't write poetry often, but occasionally words just come into my mind, so I write them down. Here is the most recent occurrence of that. During the days waiting isn't hard, John Henry will usually take all the attention I have to give very happily. It's in the evenings, when the house is quiet and we are in for the night that waiting becomes more poignant.

waiting.

a winter night of longing
indoors, we are safe and warm- but quiet
our cabin is remote, known to few
near the fire our angel slumbers
a vessel so small
for the summer we seek
he dreams of a circus, a carnival,
a sibling

Megan Wright
Feb 2009