Waiting Trails On

She waits for the phone to ring.
Tries to keep her eyes on the golf channel.
Those hard little balls being hit so far,
traveling such a long way, usually hidden.
Most of them are found again though. It’s rare
for them to be just discarded. Left for dead.
Masters of the balls find them.
Almost like they are tamed beasts.

She wrings her hands together,
massaging the place in her hand
where her gold wedding ring –
intricate diamond – once had been.
She took it off when he died.
Didn’t wear it since the funeral.
And it’s emptier now, but she won’t wear
it again.

The tiny little box that can play music,
electrical thing that is molded to
people’s hands – bothersome. Infants are born out of
the womb with these devices of awe attached.
Yet hers does nothing for her, in her older age.
She’s grown wiser, yet lonely somewhere.
She waits for the phone to ring.
It is her birthday, after all.

-- Celestial K.