Solitary in the crowd,

drifting with uncertain purpose

amongst congregations of chattering, purposeful poets,

I pass with anticipation that ebbs and flows

as moon-washed tide~

searching for a face in common,

another lost soul who will shine with delight at my approach,

gather me in as a scattered chick

beneath the mother hen’s consoling wing,

spatter me with chat. 

Painfully hoping~

yet not daring to think so~

should all lucky omens be jinxed;

desiring a reason to splurge compressed cash upon

baby bottles of champagne,

plaid packets of precious shortbread.

Please let me have a reason to break them out~

celebrate my face becoming familiar,

my words becoming wonders,

my desert island becoming Grand Central Station

with well-wishers, admirers.

The hush in a darkened ballroom

where nervous fingers clasp,

crossing in fervent prayer.

Don’t show how much I want it or

they will see disappointment all the more;

cramped facial muscles continue to smile

as each name called into the excited atmosphere

is not upon my place card.

Graciously glissading from the room,

stoic, stalwart,

pulling hand over hand the invisible lifeline,

the umbilical to the safety of the

foreign, yet familiar, hotel room where,

alone and able to melt into the puddle of myself,

I crack open the shortbread and champagne

and pretend I’ve won.