Can’t Friday be here? Why can’t it be here yet? To help us all, Carol Hamilton’s poem “Waiting” from Storm Cellar 3.1, which you can order here.
The Eskimos knew the virtue
of hunkering down, doing nothing.
This is a lesson I long
to learn, being American and full
of need to act, flutter about,
prove something. The old woman
was caught in a blizzard
just a mile from her home.
Sleep was her answer to disorientation.
She drew into herself, bent down, squat,
under a high hunk of ice, kept her rear
warm by sitting on her furry gloves.
Drawing her arms free of sleeves
to cross her breasts, she coiled…[continue reading]