The ocean is a lifeless pool today,
the horizon a straight line.
I'm sitting on a bench with my notebook,
a pen, and my camera.
First I snap a photo of the water
a palm tree, and two empty
beach chairs. Then I open
my notebook and begin to write
about the scene, wondering
what it illuminates about my life.
My husband is away for a few days
and I'm loving the solitude.
His side of the bed is a cool prairie
of quiet. The TV remote is mine.
I eat when and what I want.
The toilet seat stays down.
One lonely sailboat slides by,
a triangle of remote longing.
But, for what? There is no answer,
only stormy ripples of haunting
need that litter the calm.
What price am I willing to pay?
I put my pen down, pick up
my camera, take another picture,
then just sit and contemplate
the quiet, the aloneness, the me.