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I am waiting for the faces gathering
around my bed with their needy eyes
like curtains drawn to blink and part.

I am waiting for tubes curling into my chest
to bend like a dandelion’s stem
in the sun, and the institutional carpet
to sprout flowers.

I am waiting for the brush of lips
on my forehead as you bend to stroke my hair
rearranging every loose strand
as rain falls from the bulbs in the ceiling
as rain fills the corners of the room
and the walls, steeped in fragrant moss, fall back.

I am waiting for tombstones like clouds to part.

Robin Dawn Hudechek

Previously published in Caliban Online #19