in this supposed summer, i find myself waiting.

waiting for light

waiting for night

waiting to cross each busy street;

waiting tables watching others eat;

waiting for the sun,

with hands chewed to the bone.

                                                       but i will wait for you

to turn

and return…

and garner my laughter and my sense of fun

and answer my question

“where is the sun?”

i’ve not seen in so long,

i fear i’ll forget the feel of his warmth;

the flight of his fire and light.

i will wait for you

to answer my question:

“where has he been hiding?

where can one hide when you are larger than life…”


maybe he’s never existed.

it’s a thought…

[a ridiculous thought. dismiss. dismiss.

don’t be bitter, kathryn

don’t be so remiss

and absurd.]

Note to self: perhaps in your quest

you will find yourself…


so… where is the sun?

i find myself waiting.  waiting for what?

waiting for life to happen…

i wish i could fly…

for i

am done waiting tables

and waiting for hours

for things i have yet to define.

my hands are fucked

and my eyes plucked;

and so, i am done with this sleepless dark

and burgeoning heart.

i turn and return to you


because you…

you are something else.

you, with crystal vision-

you, with otherwordly wisdom-

you come, and go, with wings outstretched

bright and beautiful

you are a dragonfly…

Lord Tennyson was right

you are, indeed…

… a living flash of light.


down by the water,

where the river returns home,

i will be waiting

to hold thee and forget.

(c) Kat McDonald 2015


11 thoughts on “dragonfly

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