Waiting is the Hardest Part

by Woodrow Hightower

I tagged my name on sandstone
Upstream past a silo covered in Spanish moss
“Boxcar Savant was here” written in Krylon spray
Evidence I’m still breathing
In a place no one ever goes

Feeling dry as a rain shadow
Obsolete as a dancing triceratops
I wait for you to walk this way
Your holy-water self
A solar flare under heavy clouds

How does a belly dancer in spiked heels
Discover an Idaho sword swallower
With the ears of a jackrabbit?
As usual the canyon walls have no answer
As usual my disappointment grows

I’ve worked hard to stay forgotten
But what’s the point?
In my head I’m ripe for the taking
Like a starfish in the shallows
Praying low tide reveals me

For days I’ve watched for you
Your jet-black beehive
Your blue-flame eyes
Your hands clutching cardboard sunflowers
Long days of empty
Listening for a whispered voice
To speak my name

WOODWORK HIGHTOWER is a native of West Point California. He is a poet currently working on a first volume of material, loosely titled “So Low.” He has lived in many different locales throughout the US, working as musician, bartender, sleep study research test subject, vacuum salesman and amusement park ride operator. Currently Hightower resides in San Francisco’s Mission District with his wife Twyla, their two Dalmatians and a Parisian Fill Canary.


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Belle Rêve Literary Journal is a southern literary experience. Our mission is to capture everything that makes the South and its residents unique through the best contemporary literature we can find. We publish new works weekly.