The Waiting Room
how excited we are to meet you,
little not-here-yet, unnamed;
eager to flesh out the light in your parents’ eyes.
it makes us a little crazy, the waiting;
our patience a worn nub of longing
to just skip ahead to the happy ending.
you, oblivious, are unmoved; small foot tapping rib,
paced by your wise mother’s steady heart beating next to your ear;
your birth story yours, unfolding.