Accidental solitude

I wake up early

when the pink paws
of light scrabble
at the windows

 

and your arm

is seaweed deep
around me
and I heave
the weight of
ancient, ancient lovesleep

 

rise slowly

a single small bubble
breaks the surface
weightless

 

the day mixes

its own scents
in hurried strokes
milk delivery,
newsprint kept
fresh, the medium
untainted by
the bombs and blood
it must carry,

 

get quick rich coffee

stale food somewhere
in the corner
of the sink
maybe the bin
needs a clean

 

the island in the kitchen

swiped of all presence

 

the light washes the road

like a cat with a
pink clean tongue

 

leaf coloured

winds sweep in
and lunge
at fallen litter
yesterday’s brown
paper packet

 

a scrap of chiffony

plastic waves
a flag
against the
chicken mesh
wire fence

 

and flowers

of Shiuli
with their
small pinwheel
faces and cheeky
monkey orange
bottoms thrust
up in the air

 

surround each tree

in its own white
blossom island

 

who said I am not

an island?

 



Linked to MeetingTheBar@dVerse

Comfort in the chasm

I could say the things other people say

When loved ones happen to go away,

But mine is a different fear somehow.

Yes, it’s partly that they’ll never return;

But that’s  not exactly what I’m feeling now-

The yawning chasm of being alone.

It’s that one could come to learn

To be comfortable with its yawn.

There’s no telling what thoughts will do

When they’re not held and steadied by you.

Tally

"All you who sleep tonight
Far from the ones you love
No hand to left or right
And emptiness above -

Know that you aren't alone
The whole world shares your tears
Some for two nights or one
And some for all their years." ~ Vikram Seth



How many nights I’ve slept alone

Far from home, or on my own

I haven’t kept count of those nights.

From the curled-spine foetus in the womb

To the plushly-furnished hotel room

And the hospital beds, germ-free, gaunt white.

There haven’t been many, in all truth.

The comfort of elders in my youth

Child smells on my pillows in adulthood.

And the steady warmth of constant calm

In a partner’s eyes, and strong palms

Smoothing down my sheets.  It’s all been good.

But still.  On nights the moon hangs out low,

I’ve switched off the news on the radio

And this my whole world has spun out of touch.

I’ve tried to tally up those nights

And each time the totals didn’t feel right

They were either too little, or just too much.