so much of her childhood she remembers waiting.
waiting alone in parks,
in playgrounds,
at the mall,
checking the time every now and then
thinking maybe she got the hour wrong.
a kid doesn't want to believe
that dates with her dad
were only half-hearted promises.
maybe there was a traffic jam,
maybe he was caught up at a "side job,"
maybe it was something beyond his control
that was making him late.
her mind doesn't automatically jump
to prescription meds and whiskey bottles.
she doesn't want to automatically start imagining him
conked out on a sofa somewhere.
she doesn't want to believe that her father
would prefer to live life in a fog
than spend a few hours with his kid.
eventually, she'll stop waiting,
and will call her mother
to come pick her up from wherever she is.
sometimes, her mother will start yelling,
preferring to show anger instead of heartbreak for her kid,
and sometimes, her mother will stay silent,
with a knowing, disappointed look on her face.
either way, her daughter grew up,
pero siempre está esperando.
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