"The Wait"



nine months of sluggish approach his grasp like flame and silk raindrops clinging to his reflection it slithers down his cheek later than soon no longer a man a father is born



This poem is the first in a series I'd written for my application into Stanford's Pre-Collegiate Summer Program. I was accepted this summer of 2020, a trying summer indeed due to the pandemic, but the program was completely virtual. The intended reference is, evident with the mention of "nine months," about pregnancy and the mental strain on the man who is on his path toward fatherhood.

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