No Response

hours go by, and then days,
and then a week;
no reply.

the tulip has already blossomed and died.
the birds have already migrated back home.
summer comes and goes.
we’re up to “Z” in hurricane season.

when will i hear back…
i should probably stop waiting;
but I’ll probably keep waiting until my death,
and then on my next to last breath,
the response arrives: “How are you doing?”

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Recently moved back to the States after living 16 months in Vietnam. I write to remove the thoughts trapped in the cobwebs of my psyche before the spider envelopes me whole.

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