Could I pretend to be Mary Oliver and find joy inside such a word?
SOLA—yes, but never alone.
Because there is the robin and the wren.
The blind cat with her paw upon my sleeve.
Old Santi asleep in his chair
While I write from that space
Filled with eternal longing.
For a Home I don´t remember.
But it smelled of lavender.
And mother’s milk.
No, never alone.
But always that longing
To go back to where I came from
Where the river splashes over my toes.
The breeze sings lullabies in my ear.
The old Oak folds me in her arms.
And they are all there in the circle.
Aunt Bee and Aunt Judy.
Betty and Clarence.
Ca and Will.