Waiting

by Justine C. Tajonera

The sound you make
is fainter than the sound
of rain softly falling outside
our windows.

I turn inwards
just to listen.

I cannot imagine yet
what whorls are forming
on your fingers
what dreams you might have
upon first waking.

I close my eyes
and try to see.

I try to think of my own mother,
humming, looking out the window,
waiting for me to touch her
through our barrier of skin.

I share her smile now.
I am waiting to see
yours.