A Patient’s Patience, There were days I would lean over, pull back the curtain, and watch the world.

My street was a dead end.  Traffic had purpose, Back to mother, Home to wife, Kids with backpacks, candy fingers and Sky blue, school uniforms.  The best times were the mornings. My son preparing for school, I anticipated the greetings, “See you later” or “Talk soon”, Words loaded with time. That’s what I held onto then, time. Waiting for blood vessels to find a way through Donated bone, waiting for burnt nerves to bring feeling back to my leg, waiting in bed, for months. The afternoons gave me the most to see, A line of birds, perched across phone lines,

Street lamps covered in black feathers and wings. I watched, as they flew in, stayed for awhile, Then turned to fly away.