A Waiting Poem

It's me, Grace.

Still waiting.
My brothers, Clarence and River, are playing Lego Star-Wars Wii in the background.

Still waiting.

They just don't get it.

Still waiting.

Waiting for what, you ask.

Waiting for read aloud.

Waiting to be taken away to the Inkworld,

where there are adventures waiting for me.

My brothers listen, but they don't feel it.

The magic.

Still waiting.

Papa's here with the big tractor.

My brothers are gone, and Lego Star-Wars is on pause for now.

It's sweltering in my blue house, in the heat of summer in Maine.

Still waiting.

Meggie is in the cave with the children.

I need to hear more, but I'm

still waiting.

For my father to read aloud in a voice that is Silvertongue's for me,

Where I can taste the character's words on my lips,

Feel the frost on the ground,

hear the hushed whispers of children and mothers alike.

Still waiting.

Nana and Papa will go soon, and then we'll eat dinner.

It has just occurred to me that I might not hear Inkdeath tonight,

because it's movie night monday.

So I'll have to wait a little longer.

It's me, Grace, still waiting.

Typing on the laptop at the table,

looking to pass the time.

Still waiting.