oil on linen 48×78 1986 Chronicle by Ruth Bevatta
Waiting, chatting, hands in pockets, hiding, holding, on hold
For hours anticipating something (someone?) to return.
The traffic stop, the casual cop, belie the
miracle still unclaimed, still unnamed — still
to all a familiar mystery, a known unknown.
Come as you are or as you know you want to be.
This poem was written in response to Miz Quickly’s January 4 ekphrastic prompt. I responded to the painting shown above with a persistent earworm of Leonard Cohen’s Waiting For the Miracle to Come, thus the attempt at an acrostic.
the raven's eye 
Oh, my YES. THIS:
“belie the
miracle still unclaimed, still unnamed”
This reminds me of the play, Waiting for Godot.
Fantastic.
I like WHIMSGIZMO’S comment a lot, and how the photograph makes the poem even more open-ended; which hand? which pocket? Who or what is hidden?
Also, that “come as you are” is such a callback to the Nirvana song!