How to be Alone
by Anne Cecelia Holmes
Invisible family where are you. There are people
I’d like to show you. People with their mouths full.
I’m in the state shaped like a chest. I have a mason jar
of sequins. Where is your savage love anyway?
How about some gratitude for once?
This morning I read my entire diary out loud
and only one voice spoke back.
“only fountains can understand”
i waited every day, all day, every night, all night. fastened securely to the ground beneath me, i held on like claws in skin. i longed for your passing, your smothering, your filling in my every crack. but you were like wind and not water, you never took the time to envelope me, all you did was…
Sarah and I saw her live — so compelling
Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution’s power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It well may be. I do not think I would.
-Edna St. Vincent Millay
Poets create worlds
I create destruction.
Writers make people
I isolate them.
Artists create beauty
I break it to pieces.
Musicians make melodies
I dis-harmonize them.
Everything they create
I put an end to it.
Everything they add
I subtract from my world.
Yet as I sit here thinking
About all the things that I do.
I can’t help but realize
That in this destruction
That I bring to the world.
I am creating in it
My own beauty.