Waiting and Waiting

I am waiting and waiting for my ship to come in, for my mother to like me, to have enough, to know what I want and to seize it, to be a better wife, daughter, friend, nurturer of plants, saver of money, solver of puzzles.

I am waiting for the signal to burst free of my chrysalis with my fully formed wings on my back in need of stretching and drying before take off.

I am waiting for the perfect body to emerge from the one I have, for my hair to turn red on its own accord, for the fabulous me to emerge from this rubble.

I am waiting and waiting.

For the magical door to another dimension to reveal itself. To see plant spirits and people spirits and all that has come to be and passed away, like a major motion picture of the universe starting at the beginning.

I am waiting to understand the vast mystery of life, so encompassing it defies the definition needed as the basis to form questions.

I am waiting to return to the ooze from which my ancestors with webbed toes emerged, extending one toe at a time to feel the air out of water, out of mud, for the cautious first time.