Today's poem is by Paula Cisewski

Ghost of Human Contact
       

Foolishly I think I am alone when         I'm alone when
here are my night people,         my dream flowers,
my epic nascent descent         through my indecent lexicon
of loss. As I cleared the years         of debris my husband left when
he left, from under his desk         two magnetic words surfaced: bitter want.
Here is my unwanting spell,         my sweetening, the bouquet
of thorns I bit the buds off.         Oh foolishly, how foolishly, I think
I'm alone when I'm accompanied         by every unapologetic letter
of the alphabet, up all night         and snoring through breakfast:
my chorus my clan my why.         Is the question I'm spelling out
How do I want the home I make or         How do I home the want I make?

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Copyright © 2024 Paula Cisewski All rights reserved
from Ceremonies for No Repair
Beauty School Editions
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission