Anticipation

She was born longing to sing, and it looked promising.
Anticipation curled like a blue mist over the future.
There would be princes and frogs, hope
and a handful of gummy bears. There would be
the scent of the ocean before she could even see it,
and billboards on the highway.

Later she learned all adventures are final,
and anticipation remains the one thing better than reality:
the flowers are still fresh behind her ear, every hair is still
in place, every kiss still in the future, the dreams still vivid
like sunbeams in a forest of glass, whirring maybe today.

Reality, like a successful rival, lurks around the corner,
offering a wobbly crutch on which to limp through paradise
with crippled confidence. She wants to decline. Sometimes
she finds it difficult to be so downright unimportant
while the edges of anticipation are filed down,
and everything is rendered harmless.

She is determined to stay brave in her shabby insignificance,
to not wade tamely in the shallows of indifference,
and to not be weakened with genteel obedience
in the wake of the rush of the world.

Sometimes she watches the last flames of winter and stays up
until the east turns red with anticipation.
On balance she prefers anticipation to reality,
though on occasion, with a kiss or a touch of a hand,
reality still takes her by surprise.

A Coming of Age Story

She cried.
Nobody came.
She stopped crying.

Beate Sigriddaughter lives in Silver City, New Mexico (Land of Enchantment), where she was poet laureate from 2017 to 2019. Her poetry and short prose are widely published in literary magazines. Recent book publications include a poetry collection, Wild Flowers, and a short story collection, Dona Nobis Pacem. In her blog, Writing in a Woman’s Voice, she publishes other women’s voices. You can find her on her website or on Facebook.