THE OTHER SOLITUDE
…what is it like to live by oneself?--- From “Dear Solitude” by Luisa A. Igloria, Via Negativa, 10-04-11
On my hammock hour, I watch shadows
jump off my porch walls, talk with them,
and watch them grow tall at sundown.
jump off my porch walls, talk with them,
and watch them grow tall at sundown.
Dusk and the quick sunset swallow them
into a night I hope would not be bivouac
cold. My boys are too young to be cut down.
into a night I hope would not be bivouac
cold. My boys are too young to be cut down.
I don’t need medals or a flag if they come
home at all—there’s a law that says I could
not use them flags for blankets on cold days.
home at all—there’s a law that says I could
not use them flags for blankets on cold days.
Nor give them medals to their dear mother
who has gone ahead to happy hunting grounds.
Medals? I’d rather have tin mess cups for mugs.
who has gone ahead to happy hunting grounds.
Medals? I’d rather have tin mess cups for mugs.
10-05-11
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