Upstairs in this tiny apartment,
there’s an old television set,
a black and white, from ’68,
we can’t afford to replace it yet,
and my 6 year old son’s friends
tell him about the channels
that it doesn’t get, and he’s waiting.

Downstairs in the drafty front lobby,
he is all bundled up by the door,
staring out onto Christmas Eve,
no longer sure what for,
because his grandparents said
they were coming an hour ago or more,
and he is still waiting,
because he’s patient and brave,
but he hates being poor,
and I can’t stand behind him
and watch him wait anymore,
and so I take him upstairs
as he fights backs the tears,
‘cause he knows his favorite
Christmas show will go
unwatched again this year. 

And I light a candle for all of the
years that I’ve spent waiting
for them to come through,
for the day when a 10 minute
drive across town is not such a
hard thing to do,
for the day they accept that my
only son is a part of their family. 
For the day they forgive him
for the honest mistake of choosing
a mother like me and I am still waiting.

And it feels like only yesterday
that we lived on the farm;
it was my only Shangri-La
I was free and safe from harm,
but my husband had no steady income
and it’s awfully hard to
keep warm just waiting. 

He was fresh out of teacher’s college. 
Work was hard for him to find,
and so when we moved back to the city,
I pretended that I didn’t mind,
and I told him that one day he’d make it,
that his parent’s voices were too close behind,
and I am still waiting.

He’s been told all his life
that he’s not good enough,
and I stand firm beside him,
and I try to be tough,
and I, I tell him I love him. 
I don’t care what they say,
and I reach out to touch him,
but they’re always in my way. 

And I light a candle for all of
the years that I’ve spent waiting
for them to come through,
for the day when reassuring
their son that they love him is
not such a hard thing to do. 
For the day when they see that
his choice of a life is not meant
to bring them shame. 
For the day when they see that
his choice of a wife is not a
disgrace to their name. 
And I am still waiting. 
I am still waiting. 
I am still waiting.