While I Wait

I'm waiting to hear back from a professor about whether I got into his poetry workshop or not. I'm also waiting for sleep. It's all very tiring.

But I figured since I'm waiting, and since you're waiting by extension, that I should give you something while you sit with me. This is a very very old poem. And at the time I was in love with it because I could use it for a bunch of things (which meant I didn't have to write a new poem). It seemed to go over well with others #kanyeshrug. Consider it a token of our friendship:

Cloudy Walking

There are clouds outside,

Obviously,

That are pushed across the sky

by wind, maybe

but it's almost like I could run through a

meadow

Throw up my trusty grappling hook

and latch onto a cloud for the ride.

The sky could be blinding blue

or not ~ it could storm

it doesn't matter to me, really at all

just that my face was numb with water vapor

and intangible fluff,

Just that I was high up, above all of it,

lying down on the edge of the field,

and not falling into a valley,

That the world could stretch out underneath

like the bottom of a glass-bottom boat

and trees became easy to believe I am stepping on them.

I want to cloudily walk above it all

on the glass of my glass-bottom boat

so I can rest my grappling hook and

pull out my captain's hat and

take the wheel of my cloud.

So it could float, lonely if it likes,

above it all and into everything more,

Daffodils to morning glories to moonwort,

I would commandeer it through the night and day

Until it fell apart around me

and let me rise down to my meadow.

Set down on my back

under nothing and it all

stars for eyes and a moon,

the sky can fall above me.

I'll follow my cloud,

cloudily walking through the stalks and around the flowers,

following that cloud through the black and the gray, until my meadow finished,

cloudy walking out to morning.

As you can see, it's very awkward and dull. I feel like this is me showing you embarrassing baby photos of myself.