Wednesday, March 28, 2012


At fifteen to four, I sit and wait
with a party of fifty or even more.
Some in white and some in stripes,
always as the clock says fifteen to four.

Familiar yet nameless faces,
we await with all our patience.
Some days we have warm exchanges
while there are days I simply read my pages.

Today, I  chose to sit and mull over,
how minutes quickly turn to years after.
Everyday for twelve years plus one more,
I sit and wait at fifteen to four.

A thunderous noise broke my quiet ponder
Stomping feet with bags on rollers just as the day before.
Upright I sit so as not to miss what I always came here for
And as I gazed ahead of me, I see the three I love eternally.

Josh will be a senior this year in Xavier, the last of three. All these years I would sit with mommies, faithful yayas, and drivers  in the waiting room and I can't believe it's almost over. I've been waiting for 17 years in all but I will never tire of waiting for my three boys whether it be in the waiting room or as minutes quickly turn to years after, in our quiet rooms for a visit back home.


  1. Love this! "Some in white and some in stripes" is a great line and expresses so subtly who is in the waiting room. So much of parenting is about waiting--we wait for our children to come home, to reach certain milestones, to grow up, but when they do, it's hard to let go. Then one day we'll start waiting for them to come home to us again. Sigh. I also like the exactness of fifteen to four and how it recurs in the poem. An effective device to show the dailiness of this activity and the significance of that particular moment in time for this speaker.

  2. Thank you. I had to add that note in the end because I feel like i cannot insert it in the poem. Maybe one day I will find the inspiration to revise this again. Also, the margins are spilling over, i have yet to learn the rules of making poems but aesthetically, I know it would be nice to have the sides in a uniform manner.