Habitual Loneliness
Kassandra Konecny
There’s nothing quite like loneliness.
It’s not a feeling,
but a series of actions.
Loneliness is the urge to trim my toenails
so I might delay
going alone to bed a while longer.
Loneliness is checking a locked door
repeatedly
so I might hear the turn of a key.
Every step I take includes a pause –
A listening for the break in silence.
I wait until the bathwater has gone cold
before draining it,
and I sit until the tub is dry –
staring.
I keep only one light on at a time.
In the shadows, I could mistake
the unmade bed for a form, snuggled
tightly in wait for something warmer.
Light always corrects me, so my finger
lingers on the switch, and everything
takes a moment longer.
I imagine that this is why people slow
with age – loneliness
becomes habitual.
Bones wear from the pausing;
joints shrivel beyond repair.
And, a loved one’s death
is just more permanent.
Just a time when no one walks
through the door, no one
turns the key,
and the body that’s left refuses
to speed up.
Kassandra Konecny
There’s nothing quite like loneliness.
It’s not a feeling,
but a series of actions.
Loneliness is the urge to trim my toenails
so I might delay
going alone to bed a while longer.
Loneliness is checking a locked door
repeatedly
so I might hear the turn of a key.
Every step I take includes a pause –
A listening for the break in silence.
I wait until the bathwater has gone cold
before draining it,
and I sit until the tub is dry –
staring.
I keep only one light on at a time.
In the shadows, I could mistake
the unmade bed for a form, snuggled
tightly in wait for something warmer.
Light always corrects me, so my finger
lingers on the switch, and everything
takes a moment longer.
I imagine that this is why people slow
with age – loneliness
becomes habitual.
Bones wear from the pausing;
joints shrivel beyond repair.
And, a loved one’s death
is just more permanent.
Just a time when no one walks
through the door, no one
turns the key,
and the body that’s left refuses
to speed up.