Vigil

I have been waiting so long

I have forgotten what I'm waiting for.

There was something—

a word, a person, a weather—

that was supposed to arrive.

I kept the porch light on.

I kept the coffee warm.

I ironed my best shirt

and stood at the window

until the neighbors stopped asking.

Now I wait without wanting.

Now I wait the way stones wait—

heavy,

dark,

accustomed to the rain.