Loneliness

“My loneliness is filled with people,” Kafka states.

 

Loneliness once:

Nighttimes –the worst, amid winter darkness

Days end in haste, day-ends prolong like childhood’s gummy sweets

in the hands of street vendors, looking unkempt, unwashed

lips not even touching the mom-water cup,

yet, devouring in full trust those stretchy rainbow-colored sugar treats

 

loneliness now:

Filled with sounds of indecipherable joy

two person bed in the morning, two person bed at night

Quiet at nighttime but witness to a commotion at dawn

 

the family of birds, greeting each new day, in non-stop frenzy

housed in my bedroom’s right corner window crevice,

frantic back and forth wing-clapping

chirping

twitching

beak-to-wall-knocking

fighting off intruders

 

how many birds were victims to slings of childhood’s neighborhood boys,

wood and ribbon killers of baby aviators

on their way to flying classes

 

loneliness now:

Filled with sounds of indecipherable joy

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