Loneliness

When Loneliness visits

he sits down awhile,

I’ll offer him some tea

and perhaps I’ll enjoy the visit

because he always leaves me

better, braver

But he always stays longer than I plan

and I run out of things to give him – 

to distract him with

I’ve got songs for him, the sad ones

those make him go away

if the lyrics hit him softly and precisely

I’ve got poems for him to read

those satisfy him on occasion

if the words are just right

And when all that fails,

I’ve got people, people to introduce

people that scare him off

for days

But then – sometimes  

the songs, and poems, and people

aren’t enough

And he listens to Bright Eyes with me

and sings along

And he reads Sylvia Plath over my shoulder

and stays for every heavy word

He even accompanies me in crowded rooms

an invisible observer,

only whispering to me

like a ghost on my shoulder, in my ear

And I'm starting to think I'll befriend him,

even if the thought of him shakes me

Loneliness must be my friend  –

after all

if he is the one that always stays

I know him well

after all this time

and I'll have to be his friend for now

if I'm going to be happy.