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Waiting for a Sign 2010

Janet Kuypers
(poetry converted to prose)

    I have been waiting... Sitting in suburban subdivisions, like shared cemeteries, waiting for a sign.
    Is that your voice resonating through the air, or is that just your heat? I can see those waving lines of heat like the burning rays of the sun. Sine, cosine. Up and down, back and forth, arcing, curling I can see those waves like heat waves from the sun nurn though me.
    Is this what you do to me? I second-guess myself while I wait.
    I drive down the road, see old jalopy cars, rusted dinosaurs on the roadside. I see huge pick-up trucks with added exhaust pipes sticking out of the top of their cab (I try not to think of these men with tractor trailer fetishes)...
    And every time we pass a cemetery in some foreign town, I think of a real estate agent trying to sell you a home: you’re in some foreign town, but look around this beautiful town... see all the town’s amenities. But every time we pass a cemetery I think, “Here is where we bury our dead”...
    So now I stand here... We spin on our axis over a thousand miles an hour. We revolve around the sun Sixty-seven thousand miles an hour. Our planet is spiraling through space at six hundred thousand miles an hour. Everything is spinning around me, and I stand here, observing the world... Feeling like I know less and less about more and more.
    My head is spinning, and I’m waiting.
    Though I don’t know what I’m waiting for.

Chicago poet Janet Kuypers
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