Solitude

Megan Chiusaroli
Featured image: untitled © Ariana Chiarenza 2019

 

It’s alone
without the lonely
It’s a choice you make
at breakfast
not to wish for more.
It’s the yellow daffodils
bowing their heads
towards the sun
and the chickens pecking
the ground in the
open field.

It’s not the hungry heart
the waking-working brain
piecing together these
unmovable parts,
this abandoned
shower and sink
by the road or
the landlord’s
two cents.
It’s not texting
on your walk
or checking your email
obsessively.
It’s not your need
to feel important.

It’s this giant cactus and
the simple spirals
the tractor makes.
It’s the vines uphill
growing just as
they should.
It’s crossing over
to the other town,
the one whose name
you don’t know.
It’s your curls
fresh clean
from the shower
and the balcony,
warmer than the house,
where two months ago
you whispered
I’m getting married
today.

It’s this border town
between provinces,
these fractions
these seconds
when you don’t ask
when
It’s the earthy fields
getting ready for spring.
It’s the birds announcing
its arrival,
too soon this year.
It’s our nightly giving-thanks,
despite these distances
that seem great. It’s these
brightly colored
edifices filled
with people who
would get out
if they could.
It’s the wind whipping
at the window.
It’s your only chance
to be free.