there are abstractions
I no longer go in fear of.
Take loneliness.
I've started calling it solitude.
It feels so new and improved now,
I can honestly say it soaks up time
better than a sponge soaks up water.
The other day I actually washed this poem with it.
Ez, let me tell you,
aging is a Laundromat,
and eventually you find yourself
watching what you spurned
and dreaded for years
spread out in widening gyres,
like sheets fluffed in the dryer.
Life is quite a bit cozier
when you let all the bugaboos -
you know - say, sadness and fear
crawl into bed with you.
Pace them with your breathing
and they fall asleep
fast as a couple of kids.
The other night we huddled together
staring at the moon
as it slid past my window:
big-bellied sail on a wet black sea.
~ Eileen D. Moeller
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