I dream of Vietnam. How much of it will prove to be real and how much is fantasy I don't know, but images come to me. I picture heat and palms and traffic. There are children selling, selling, selling and people honking and rushing with all kinds of goods stacked Suessian high on motorbikes. Papers swirl around me waiting for governmental stamps and ribbons of approval. I'm stopped by the deep, dark eyes of kids. Their's is a timeless, knowing gaze. Is he there? Is she this one?
I hate the waiting. I want to go the office and slam my homestudy on the desk and say "Here, take five freakin minutes and review this document."
I try to breathe in and think of Vietnam... Guatemala invades and morphs the countries into a rainforest mix. There's E waiting for me and there's a brother or sister, I can't see. It's all too distant and there's so many papers to go, so many offices to visit, so many miles to travel.
Right now, there's dinner, and bathtime, and play. The night will come, morning will rise and I'll make another call. Put on your happy voice and nudge things along, sooo sloooooowly
as a breeze hits the palm tree
and the insects sing
for you my little one
waiting so far away.