Another Kind of Alone
Breathless late, they mourn
What’s good here?
Anything and everything
Your heart might desire.
This poem is not about anything that really happened, to me or to anyone specific.
It is a placeholder, a memory-yet-to-be-made for some innocent woman waiting for her friends, about to be blindsided by news of yet another engagement, another alliance.
The coffee is hot, the pastries to die for. I hope she’s already had something to eat. She’s about to lose her appetite.
Thus a character I have yet to write enters. She slides her eyes at me. I’ve got a surprise for you, she winks.