I Can’t Wait
I can’t wait until the media
grows weary of the shouting,
until the headlines fade
like old paint on weathered signs—
and no one is breaking
just for clicks.
I can’t wait until
we are not red or blue
but just soft pink palms
passing bread across tables
without scanning for slogans
in the crust.
I want to say,
“Did you hear the robins came back early?”
and not hear,
“It’s because of climate change—
or your candidate—
or your ignorance.”
I want babies again—
not symbols, not pawns—
just small hearts
wrapped in quilted hope,
names whispered in joy
without commentary threads
spooling behind them.
I want the weather again—
just rain or sun or
God, what a breeze—
not coded with meaning
or weaponized doubt.
I can’t wait until
we stop parsing neighbors
like party lines
and start noticing
how Mrs. Alvarez’s roses
are blooming again.
I can’t wait until
we remember
how to be human—
not headline,
not handle,
not war.
Just human.
With a baby in one arm,
a pie in the other,
and a sky
too big to argue with.

Leave a comment