For a while, you lived in a room without a TV
Or a garbage disposal, and it was so quiet
You heard the refrigerator moan, two dogs
Barking at each other in the alley, somebody
On the roof watering. You’ve been alone all day
Except for 10 minutes when the landlord came
To fix the TV. Scientists say, in the brain, loneliness
Looks like hunger. You made chicken soup.
And in the morning the tops of palms
Looked disconnected from their limbs
Until the light filled in and you could see
They are attached to their branches
And trunks, fastened to the sand. In the near
Darkness, it only seemed they were out there
Flailing dismembered in the wind,
Untethered and balancing on pure air.
Photo by Anthony Tran on Unsplash
Cynthia Good
Cynthia Good is an award-winning poet, journalist, former TV news anchor, and author of the chapbook, What We Do with Our Hand published last fall by Finishing Line Press. She has written seven books and launched two magazines. Her poems have appeared, or are forthcoming, in numerous journals including Tupelo Quarterly, Terminus Magazine, Waxing and Waning. Her full-length manuscript, In The Thaw of Day, has just been accepted for publication.
