. . . Or, why it is not good to have a bad day when there is lots of Easter chocolate left.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
51/365 : Alone
I am alone . . . and lonely.
My own sadness makes everything around me
more beautiful.
The dusk falls softly,
As simply as a page turning or a bird lighting on the ground.
The sky grows dull rose near the rooftops
And, high above me, a sea-blue-green.
I am caught up in it all - and small.
I search for words. I ache with words I cannot find.
Inside, the phone rings.
"Where's Kate?" Dad asks.
I am here - but I say nothing.
He calls - but I do not answer.
"She's not in yet," he says to someone.
"I'll tell her you phoned."
I could go in.
Soon it will be suppertime anyway,
Time for eating and talking and being part of things,
Belonging again to the horrible, boring, nice, funny,
noisy, busy, angry, loving world of people.
I'll go in when I have to.
In half an hour, I'll even like it.
Now . . .
Now I'll stay out here, hugging my separateness,
my oneness.
I am alone. I am lonely.
I am growing into me.
My own sadness makes everything around me
more beautiful.
The dusk falls softly,
As simply as a page turning or a bird lighting on the ground.
The sky grows dull rose near the rooftops
And, high above me, a sea-blue-green.
I am caught up in it all - and small.
I search for words. I ache with words I cannot find.
Inside, the phone rings.
"Where's Kate?" Dad asks.
I am here - but I say nothing.
He calls - but I do not answer.
"She's not in yet," he says to someone.
"I'll tell her you phoned."
I could go in.
Soon it will be suppertime anyway,
Time for eating and talking and being part of things,
Belonging again to the horrible, boring, nice, funny,
noisy, busy, angry, loving world of people.
I'll go in when I have to.
In half an hour, I'll even like it.
Now . . .
Now I'll stay out here, hugging my separateness,
my oneness.
I am alone. I am lonely.
I am growing into me.
-Jean Little
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
