Science & Medicine

The waiting room

The Waiting Room…sometimes

We park our cars and take that walk,
Not always in the mood for talk.
We stand in line and wait our turn.
As we check in, sometimes we learn.

We scan the room where people wait.
The silence there; the aire of fate.
The tired ones with little left.
We know they know–and feel bereft.

Brave daughters, with beloved Moms,
wish they could wheel them out of harm.
Brave husbands, with their fragile wives,
have loved together all their lives. 

Some will live to see more seasons.
Some will die, for many reasons.
Cancer. Sorrow.
We have no claim on our tomorrow,
nor have a year that Dad can borrow.

The waiting room, a quiet place.
We sit and hope and pray
for grace.



-Arnie McConnell                 fall, 2013

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Comments on: "The waiting room" (9)

  1. Jackie Horton said:

    Been there. Done that. But soon, due to ET, will be on the other end. A beautiful, sad poem.

  2. Thanks Arnie! How very beautiful and true; what a special in site you have.

  3. Voncille Fryou said:

    Beautifully written and so very true!

  4. Rochelle Moore said:

    BTW, who’s the artist of the hand drawing? I like it!

  5. Rochelle Moore said:

    Thank you for sharing this poem. I’m sure it will touch many; it has touched me.

  6. Arnie McConnell said:

    Thanks, Mary. It’s how I feel…sometimes…and those feelings, too, are worthy, even though perhaps less positive.

  7. Mary Morochnick said:

    That was beautiful and so true. Thank you.

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