This
Advent
By
Michael Coffey
You
light candles and you wait,
not
like waiting at the bus stop
with
the rain soaking your day
and
the time passing like tree growth.
You
light candles and you wait,
not
like standing in line at the grocery store
with
your parsley dripping on your shoe
and
the woman in front of you
wiring
a check like a novel.
You
light candles
as
you sing songs of joy in minor keys,
and
you wait
like
a man sitting at the restaurant table
with
the calla lilies in his hand
and
the diamond ring inside
the
death-by-chocolate dessert,
looking
every direction every moment
to
see his beloved appear.
You
wait like this
even
without anyone coming
to
take your flowers,
year
after year
war
after war
death
after death,
lighting
candles one by one.
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