For me, the loneliest feeling
is when you notice the slight change
in someone’s glance
after they realize the you in front of them
is not the you in their mind
And then there is the other you,
in your mind,
who carries bags of gold
through the ramshackle world,
or whose hands caress
piano or pen,
or whose mouth
sings devastating odes
to the smoldering forest
But then there is just you
standing in front of someone
who sees your scabby knees
for the first time
And all you want is for them to take you home
and listen and nod approvingly
at the story whose hero
shares your name
This article appears in August 2009.
