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Window Waiting
Mia, Age 13, Tucson, AZ

                     
I lean heavily against the window,
But only my steamy breath stares back.
Waiting. Waiting for Dad to come home.
Other fathers stride eagerly to their door
But no one appears to walk up to mine
Where are you? Itís getting dark.

I slump down and shrink from the dark
Silently pleading Dad to appear in the window
Some dads eat dinner with their kids; not mine.
He shrinks from me even when heís back
Hides the moment he goes through door
I am sitting, waiting, alone at home.

My friends have already left for home
Hours and hours before the sky gets dark.
I politely ushered the last one out the door
And glanced hopefully to the window
He still wasnít there. Angry, I turned my back.
Some dads come to birthday parties; not mine.

Some hug their dads, but I canít do that to mine.
Weíre both too tired when heís finally home.
I stop waiting by the time he gets back
And crawl into bed the moment it gets dark
With the curtains drawn, I face my window,
But canít sleep until I hear the front door.

At last, Dad closes and leans on the door
His closed, tired eyes match mine.
He walks right by me at the window,
Saying nothing about not being home.
Hurt, I start for my room; the house is dark.
Behind the door, I peak at Dadís slumped back.

ďIím sorry it was late when I got back.Ē
Angry but tired, I lean against the door.
His lie festers between us in the dark.
Some dads love their children; not mine.
All he thinks about is work when heís home.
I whisper to him the words I think at the window.

ďEvery day I wait until it's dark at the window.
Waiting for you to come home, staring at the door,
But when you do come back, youíre still not mine.Ē
 

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