Watched Kettle
Watched kettle resisting
boiling point,
Toaster refusing to
relinquish
Or crisp the still-soft bread it
holds,
Silent, stared-at telephone,
Cloudless, rain-withholding
sky,
Bobber motionless on
sun-struck water
Over
baited hook awaiting fish—
All these stubborn deserts of
waiting
Stretch on day by day,
While meanwhile
The children grow up
overnight.
- P. J. Grath
November 3, 2012
2 comments:
Beautiful. Your poem mirrors my thoughts about children, as I think about my granddaughters, and how fast they have grown.
Hi, Bonnie. It was the contrast between different kinds of subjective time that struck me—how so many things we wait for seem to take forever to arrive, while simultaneously time is rushing by in other ways.
I am going to have to make a trip to Nova Scotia one of these days! So many people there I’d like to meet in person, plus an old graduate school friend in Halifax. The writing seems to be on the wall....
Thank you for visiting and commenting.
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