2am in the waiting room

I've been watching this glass for hours:

bubbled around woven metal,

everyone behind it safely blurred

into plausible obscurity.

But your scrub cap is red,

which I noticed because I couldn't

look you in the eye

while you told me

unfathomable things

might happen. I remember

you promised

to do your best,

that you would all

do your best. I remember

your scrub cap, which will stand out

even behind the chicken wire glass,

so I'm watching.

It won't take more than a few seconds

for you to open the door

and change everything,

I will ask myself

if it looks like your head

is raised or bowed,

if you seem eager or reluctant

to reach us. I will read an entire novel

in that shapeless bob of red,

a stone, midair

headed for the water.