Anticipation makes waiting difficult.
Thinking it will end. To wait another year,
I could put it on hold, ease up on the tension
like letting a fish run on a slack line. Three months
would be easier than this just-around-the-corner not
knowing. Don't make any plans. Don't travel.
Every day since mid-December is week thirty-eight
of my metaphorical pregnancy. A yellow fireman's raincoat
instead of a red ski jacket. Sand toys replacing the sled.
Done with size threes, he's moving into the fours -- growing up
without me. I miss him without knowing who he was
and is, and is...
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