Living alone changes a person. I have lived alone nearly three years now, after 27 years of marriage. The longer I live alone, the more difficult it is for me to be around people. I become anxious as they use my towels, dirty my dishes, watch my TV, sleep in my spare beds (not making them the next morning), and occupy my space. I feel compelled to put everything back in its place when they leave. When I began this new phase of my life, I could foresee the danger of drawing into myself with time as I lived alone. I wrote this poem one week into the experience. I fear I have fulfilled my own poetic prophecy of misanthropy. I need to work that much harder to be social with people in their space and in my space. If I am not careful, I will become the hermit I feared. (I am not feeling sorry for myself, just noticing subtleties of change in a human spirit.)
This will be the trick:
to not slip into idiosyncrasy,
needing everything to be
just so, or nothing
to be just so;
to not harden to stone or ice, but
to not melt entirely away.
(I took the above photo of a sunrise moon from my apartment balcony a few days ago.)
Roger is the author of Rabbit Lane: Memoir of a Country Road. The book tells the true life story of an obscure and magical farm road and its power to transform the human spirit. The book is available in print and for Kindle at Amazon. See Rabbit Lane reviewed in Words and Pictures.