You are in a beige waiting room
Sitting on a plastic chair
You stare at the carpet:
Reddish-brown, with coffee stains
Grief shivers through your being
How long have you been here again?
Sweat drips from your palms, your brow
Your emotions stretched on a rack
You try to compose yourself:
Your loved ones need you.
You shift unsteadily
Treacherous waters rise around you;
Your feet in the Rubicon.
A jolt; someone calls your name
You look up and you hear
“He is ready to see you now.”
