The Waiting Room

Wrinkled, yellow, cracked, old and small, these hands

Grasp mine intently, curiosity burns in the clutch

The place around moves slowly, lets us lose ourselves in the moment

“I’ve missed you, but what are we at the station?”

She stares up at me from below, “I’m just passing through.”

For school, we had to take a poetry workshop and write about a place and a person. My person is my great-grandma, RIP. It took about 5 minutes but I love it so much, I put it online. For anyone who finds themselves missing someone close, this is for you.

R&R - don't flame if you know what's good for you,