WAITING IN LINE FOR RAY BRADBURY
I sit on a grassy, wet hill
Watching people rush by
On their way here and there,
Unknowingly in a hurry.
I tell everyone,
Anyone who will listen really,
About meeting you
When I was but a child;
A child of ten.
You seemed surprised
A child of ten
Knew of the Martian Chronicles,
Let alone, read it.
It opened to me
A whole new world
Of fascinating people
And the concept of other beings
Similar to us,
But yet so different
Living and dying on another planet.
If ever I came to worship
Another human being
I would have to say it was you.
And the thought of meeting you
Once again,
Twenty years later
In a little less than a hour
Leaves me to wonder
If my memory of you
Has grown to larger proportions
Over the passage of time.
My memories of you seem huge;
I wonder if I will be disappointed.
Your words have brought
Hours and years of enjoyment.
Both your written words
And those you spoke
When I told you I wanted to be a writer
Just like you.
You smiled, gave me a hug
And told me I could.
I have never forgotten
And the desire still grows
Like an unreachable dream
That I can't give up.
I fear it would seem like dying;
Giving a part of my soul
It's eternal rest.
� Rosalia A. Hendrix