Solitary in the crowd,
drifting with uncertain purpose
amongst congregations of chattering, purposeful poets,
I pass with anticipation that ebbs and flows
as moon-washed tide~
searching for a face in common,
another lost soul who will shine with delight at my approach,
gather me in as a scattered chick
beneath the mother hen’s consoling wing,
spatter me with chat.
Painfully hoping~
yet not daring to think so~
should all lucky omens be jinxed;
desiring a reason to splurge compressed cash upon
baby bottles of champagne,
plaid packets of precious shortbread.
Please let me have a reason to break them out~
celebrate my face becoming familiar,
my words becoming wonders,
my desert island becoming Grand Central Station
with well-wishers, admirers.
The hush in a darkened ballroom
where nervous fingers clasp,
crossing in fervent prayer.
Don’t show how much I want it or
they will see disappointment all the more;
cramped facial muscles continue to smile
as each name called into the excited atmosphere
is not upon my place card.
Graciously glissading from the room,
stoic, stalwart,
pulling hand over hand the invisible lifeline,
the umbilical to the safety of the
foreign, yet familiar, hotel room where,
alone and able to melt into the puddle of myself,
I crack open the shortbread and champagne
and pretend I’ve won.
