Tuesday, April 16, 2019

A Little Solitude Is Not All It's Cracked Up To Be

This house,
Quiet and vacant,
Abandoned.
Home alone,
I do busy work,
To avoid feeling lonely and bored.
I clean out the fridge,
Eat all the leftovers,
I feed the dogs and do the dishes.
I empty all the trashcans.
Gather loose laundry.
I watch the news without fear.
I have no need to worry that perhaps,
The broadcast,
May contain something ugly,
That the children will hear.
Overwhelming silence,
Except for the dogs,
Who trundle about,
Lost,
Searching for their small humans,
Unable to comprehend,
The idea of object permanence.
"They are gone for now,"
I tell them.
"They will be back."
But I get it.
Like the dogs,
I feel a little adrift,
Restless,
Forsaken,
In the absence of those I love most.

4-16-19

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