“Twelve days,” you said to me once,
Speaking of a trip you were taking home.
“That’s how long I’ll be gone.
Can you wait that long for me?”
Twelve days, ten weeks,
A year or three if you were serious
About your more exotic adventures—
My dear, I would wait for you
Like I’m waiting now:
Standing inside this place we call home,
Hands out in front of me, bracing myself
On the cool front door.
A modern adaption of
The Allegory of the Cave,
Although instead of stone walls and shadows,
My world is neatly contained
In the confines of the wide angle lens
Of a door viewer, my
Stockinged feet standing on tiptoe
As I watch with growing excitement,
Waiting for the moment
When your car manifests
Before my eager left eye.
Ashlynne Doyle 