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5 Ways of Looking at Waiting

Zuzu Tadeushuk

My Month in Review

Forget the iPhone Photo Journal! This month I look back through poetry...


Five Ways of looking at waiting:


A torpor trundles along in this bus

a kneeling bus they call it


perhaps like me

at least to the shuddering of it’s onslaught,

the exhaust and dirty buildings and billboards-

that lullaby of the highway.

Submitting perhaps like me

to the desire to achieve remarkableness 

through vast ordinariness— to be intensely normal.

Baggy clothes, slouchy hair

on shoulders

and dirty door stoops.

Do you think I can?

What a shame then to have this opportunity- 

the grand chance that is human existence- 

gone to lethargy

and an ape.

Squalid, squandered,

days amount to squat

when you're living between plane tickets

and the kneeling bus. 


I am no more destined

for a public life than Emily Dickinson—

and that’s about where the  parallels end.

Sherry eyes and nightgowns on the stairs,

I am wishful of such prolificness!

Licking a creamy envelope

and tucking it in a winter mailbox to chill.

Oh Emily

would I were so steady

or sure. Were you?


I don’t know yet what moves me

or how to un-kneel

unfold these legs

and rub my pimply knees.

I'd like to go

for a walk.



I want to 

feel you

feel my


and tell me I don't lack passion.


There are soap suds 

in the escarole tonight

and there are dishes of things to be thought tonight.

It is amazing what we are shown

by one keyhole glimpse of humanhood!

Standing at the sink

elbow deep in soap suds and the smell 

of the burnt bottom of the pan

my hands are made like paper-

scratchy, meant to carry words

and dishes, perhaps, on nights like this.

Unlike paper,

I feel and am felt. I think this will last.

I’m germinating a pervasive, precious knowing

and this will be me in a forever sort of way.