It’s in the blood. It is always in the blood. So we wait. The clock ticks.
The neighbors’ dogs bark for the millionth time.
Mama cat hides her kittens in our backyard by the Sugar Apple Tree.
The garbage men leave our cans flat on their backs in the driveway.
We hope. We give each other forced smiles and pretend we’re not waiting
when we are.
A phone solicitor informs me that my internet has stopped working 20+ times recently.
I cut him off before he can offer his brilliant solution.
I hear the constant ticking of the clock. My reality is at a standstill. When will the results
come back from the lab? Why is it taking so long?
We go to the supermarket. Do we have enough eggs? Soy milk? Oatmeal?
We head to Walmart. It’s hard to find parking. The homeless man at the entry yelling
gibberish irritates the hell out of me.
I can’t find my brand of soap, the checkout line is too long, and everyone is moving too
slow. I vent my anger to the cashier without looking at her face, and I forget for a while,
that I’m waiting. Waiting to find out the secret in the blood.