Table Set for One
I raise my oversize wineglass eye-high
And, peering deep into its Chianti well, toast myself —
Another week into my widening, solitudinous life —
Then press my dry lips to its crystal lip and sip.
The elixir enraptures me; I'm complete.
Panning the restaurant, from my back-wall vantage,
I realize that mine is the only table set for one.
Gradually, my liberated psyche
Is getting used to this new union of body and spirit,
And I'm growing enamored with being alone.
There was a time when I believed that isolation
Was akin to devil worship, speaking in evil tongues,
A perverse curse working to undo God's design,
Against His divine plan for woman and man
To mate, procreate, for the sake of the human race.
Now, I have no doubts about two souls conjoining.
I'm certain, to the height of my enlightenment,
That existence steeped in the sanguinity of solitude
Is the purest means to finding harmony with oneself —
That state in which humans achieve true mind-peace.
04/25/09 - (2)