Photo by Matthias Koch
And everyone is buying too much toilet paper,
Everyone is developing a drinking problem,
Everyone is singing the goddamn Beatles,
And shaming people for watching Netflix and on and on and on
A Bonne Marman jar full of wine,
My birthday gift to myself tonight,
And last night,
And the night before that,
And the afternoons too.
The days bleed together,
Weekends mean nothing,
South Street stays mum.
I have dreams of being touched,
Of a hug
Or a hand being held,
Of first dates, even bad ones,
Of new people, new conversations.
Of seeing my parents without wondering if my touch will kill them,
My jaw grows tighter,
Clenched with all of the unspeakable things that may be,
With all the things I cannot do.
The minute you let her under your skin
That humid greenery and
My emerald velvet couch.
A palm fern in a macrame hanger tickles my cheeks,
A candle the scent of rain.
Through the window of a Matisse
My room is echoed.
Beyond the courtyard through my back window, my neighbor sits alone
(As he usually does)
The house glows yellow,
The lights on so much more now,
My little apartment is luminous.
My wood floors shine,
My plants thrive, never forgotten.
On my bed posts hang clean linens,
The smell of lavender soap.
Eucalyptus hangs in the shower,
The leaves fall like petals
And we begin
To make it better.
What is loneliness?
Who needs a forest when you have a home?