I Wait

                                                                                       

          For Fridays and Sundays,

   For seven-thirty in the evening. 

                             I dial the number.

                             They pick up.

I hear

The TV,

My siblings,

My mother scolding.

                           They start talking to me.

                         I glow with happiness.

                          I share everything from

                          The tips of my feet to the soul of my heart.

“Thirty minutes are up,” says Asba.

                          I cut the call.

I try to slow down

 The pressure in my heart.