Adieu, Solitude

Adieu, Solitude

Solitude 
arrived unbidden
with Sorrow in tow, 
retrieved from her nightly forays
amongst bony trees and sinewy shadows 
barefoot, no buttons or soles, 
just a pale gossamer gown,
holy and haunted
by too many naked dreams. 

I opened the old paned door
and let them in together,
then drew a long hot bath 
to soak away Sorrow’s sadness
in coarse sea salt and the essence 
of rose oil

while Solitude and I 
retreated to the living room 
and began our nightly rituals: 
turning the dimmers down low; 
lighting one lone white pillar,
or a row of six singular votives
in clear aquamarine glass,
flames fluttering across the altar  
like tiny angel wings; 
pouring the mystical wine, 
ruby red or the color of fading sunlight.

In time sadness lifted
from the antique clawfoot tub, 
and Sorrow found her way back to the sea, 
diving deep 
to slip the alchemical sand
inside an oyster shell,
leaving me
with sacred Solitude 
to await the return 
of Venus. 

Solitude
you have wooed and courted me,
keeping constant time 
we’ve sat in silence 
and strolled side by side,
divining a new rhythm;
you’ve infused and inspired me,
stirring up and teasing my idled imagination. 

 Now I’m feeling aroused,
wild inside, totally free
and more alive
than ever. 

 Tonight 
I bid you adieu, Solitude
in gratitude
for your ardent companionship.
For so long I believed you were mine 
alone, and always
now I know we’ve had our time
and you must go, first
before I do.
Eventually, I’ll be packing too-

 I’ve kept a few things to remember you:
dove-gray cashmere socks darned from fall mourning clouds;
a leather coin purse filled with luminous pearls
of evening stars, full moons, and winter sunrises;
and sprigs of springtime lavender pressed inside  

the book of poetry
you gave me when you first arrived
last summer. 

*I was so honored to receive First Place in the Story Circle Network’s 2012 national women’s writing contest for my poem, “Adieu Solitude,” inspired by Pablo Neruda and Federico Lorca Garcia, and my mentor and comadre, Lorraine Mejia-Green. I wrote this just before I left for Italy or two months.