I leave a lamp burning
by the window sometimes.
Not for you.
I just prefer the way it makes
the house look warm
from the street.
And I like coming home
to evidence
that someone expected me,
even when that someone
was myself.
If you happen to see it
one evening,
you may knock.
But understand this—
the light was already on.
Tag: Solitude
-
The Light in the Window
-
Somewhere, Perhaps
Perhaps you are reading tonight.
Perhaps you are standing at a station
watching the wrong train leave.
Perhaps you are laughing
in a language
I am still learning.
I don't need to know.
The world is large,
and I have stopped trying
to peer around its corners.
If our roads meet,
I hope we recognise
the strange familiarity
of arriving
without having been summoned. -
Table for One
I no longer lower my voice
when I say it.
Table for one.
By the window, please.
I order what I like,
linger over dessert,
watch strangers hurry home
to lives I know nothing about.
Once, an empty chair
looked like absence.
Now it is simply
a place where I put my coat.
And someday, perhaps,
someone will sit there.
He will have to ask first. -
The Other Cup
Sometimes I take down two cups
without thinking.
One for me.
One for…
no one, yet.
I used to put the second one back.
Now I leave it there
while the kettle sings.
Not because I am waiting.
Because there is room
on the table,
and I have learned
that emptiness
and possibility
are not the same thing.