Imaginary Conversation


For We Write Poems poetry prompt: Conversational

Imaginary Conversation

You said, last week,
that one must earn
the trust one is given.

                              “Yes, that is true.”

How long should
one wait for that?

                              “I don’t know. However
                              long it takes.”

Is fifty years
too long?

                              “Fifty years? What
                              are you talking about?”

Waiting for fifty
years to be trusted.

                              “Why must you always
                               be so… difficult?”

Maybe because fifty
years can be filled with wounds,
memories that never really heal,
things still waiting to be resolved?

                              “Oh, for God’s sake,
                               why can’t you ever
                               just let things go? 
                               Forget it?”

I’ve tried, again and again,
but it’s always there, always
still waiting.

                              “Sometimes you don’t make
                              sense. What is all this waiting
                              shit really all about? Waiting
                              for what?”

I’m not sure anymore.
Maybe just waiting
for the waiting to stop.

                              “Oh, that’s wonderful! If you
                              don’t know, how am I supposed to?
                              This is just plain stupid. You are
                              so overly sensitive and talking
                              in circles, again.”

I suppose you could
be right, but I had to try
one last time.

                              “Now you are going to try
                              to blame it on me? It’s all
                              my fault, because you can’t
                              say what you mean? It’s my
                              fault because you can’t think

No, not exactly. Some
of the fault is mine, for
being too willing to wait
for something that will
never happen.

                              “Well, I’m glad you finally
                              figured it all out. Can we please
                              get going? Everyone else is waiting.”

No. I won’t be going
with you. Fifty years
is enough of waiting.

Elizabeth Crawford  1/18/11

About 1sojournal

Loves words and language. Dances on paper to her own inner music. Loves to share and keeps several blogs to facilitate that. They can be found here:
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12 Responses to Imaginary Conversation

  1. Wow. I should think so!!!! I know that “waiting” for things to be different, when someone else’s perception just refuses to enlarge to any other possibility than their rightness……sigh. Humans are why I love dogs:) Good writing, Elizabeth, as always.

    Thank you, Sherry. I agree with you about humans versus dogs, but occasionally I do want that passing of words to occur, and obviously with more depth and meaning than here, lol.



  2. Irene says:

    Someone’s always waiting. What is at the end of waiting? Maybe the point is in the waiting. Your poem bring home that. Thanks for sharing this, Elizabeth.

    Irene, I was aiming more at the realization that with certain folks there will never be an end to the waiting, unless I choose to do that. This wasn’t hard to write, I’ve had this conversation many times. The actual posting was far more difficult. Thanks for your thoughts and comments,



  3. vivinfrance says:

    I have circular conversations like this with a man not a million miles from me. Frustrating, isn’t it? I like the way you have laid this out.

    Thank you, Viv. Sometimes it’s more than frustrating, it’s dangerous to ones well-being. I think I’ve reached my limits,



  4. pamela says:

    Elizabeth, I like how the frustration escalates in this piece.
    I’ve had many a conversation like this.

    Pamela, it’s really good to know that others have this experience. The only thing hard about writing the piece, was the reliving of it in order to get it all down. Thanks for your encouragement and support,



  5. Dear Elizabeth

    The hall echos the sounds of the tick of the clock, it’s been fifty years you say? Only fifty years? Why it seems a hundred years or more. It is not the time that is important, it is the understanding. It is how you feel. And you have expressed it so well. I want the “other” to say,”I hear you, I understand, how you feel in your heart, in your gut. What can I do? Your words are not mysterious to me. For I have known the “waiting,” too.” I am sorry, for you, that you know of that hold, that can not be filled. Rejoice that you are the one! And like you just as you are!

    At the moment, Annell, the hall is filled with the echo of shared laughter and knowing. I will take the wish of your words and replace them for any others. Thank you,



  6. In reading the comments and answers, which I never like to do, until I’ve made my comment. You said to Vivian, maybe you have reached your limits. I think sometimes there are people who will never understand what you are talking about. Go ahead, accept your fate, know that it is your fault. Again I said, celebrate, you are not the one, who doesn’t understand. There is always a silver lining….even when it doesn’t seems so.

    Annell, there is no fault to acccept. Just years of misunderstanding that can teach if we but listen closely enough. Thanks for your words, your support, and your caring,



  7. One more comment. I liked the conversation, so much, you handled it so well!

    Thank you, Annell, it actually helped a great deal, but then truth usually does,



  8. That is so real! You’ve used the exact dialogue of a man & woam who are both frustrated!

    Frustration is an excellent word for all of it. Thank you Marian,



  9. Ron. says:

    Hey, after fifty years, it’s a miracle they’re still talking at all. Must be true love.

    Seriously: I could hear the voices. This is the goal of writing. Well done.

    Thank you Ron, yes, in many ways it could be seen as a miracle. I’m glad you could ‘hear’ it. I could, when I wrote it,



  10. Mary says:

    The conversation seems to me to be between self and self, two different perspectives. We all have such internal dialogues, I think. I agree that fifty years is enough of waiting, more than enough…and if nothing has changed in 50 years, it won’t! I like the conversation very much. Thought provoking fare.

    Mary, I originally thought about the self-talk angle, but decided to create this two person communication instead. And I’m so glad that I did that. It was very thought provoking for me as well. Thank you much for your continued encouragement,



  11. ms pie says:

    well what if one is waiting and waiting and waiting… i saw it has one talking to oneself… in an alter ego sorta way… we wait within ourselves for something more from ourselves… i’ve been waiting for awhile though i knew not the waiting was almost an enduring eternity.. though lasting seconds more than i could wait… now i sorta understand the waiting at times… rushing, rushing forward… wait red light, green light go… ohhh, yellow light caution slow slow slow… and yes this could be so off the mark of what you were expressing, and that’s ok too… it is all a matter of waiting….

    You bring up something that is very important. When we put our words out there into the world, they say what they say to whomever might be listening. If they are true and clear, that person will hear exactly what they need to hear, even if it has little to do with the author’s intent. We must release them with that purpose in mind, I think. Thanks for your thoughts,



  12. neil reid says:

    Good for you Elizabeth, these semaphores. This is a very loud clear conversation. Thanks too for making it public, and of course not for us but yourself. The energy here is unmistakable. Glad you pulled the plug. It makes for an ending and a beginning, both.

    A poem can be a hammer or fork and spoon, or an old wet cloth for wiping a window clear.

    “I saw my life on an island across the sea, so I swam to it. And when I arrived I saw myself on another island across another sea, so I swam and swam, from next to next.” To paraphrase an old parable. Poems are meant to serve. Thanks. And next? (you know… )

    Neil, I am slow today, slow to move, slow to make words. But, grateful to you and all these others who call me back to myself when I wish to drift away for a bit. I love the quote, and yes, I am swimming, always swimming, next to next.



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