Chronic

CHRONIC

It’s unsettling to be living alone again.

When I go to bed at night, the heavy silence buzzes in my ears.

It seems I should hear something—the thump of my cats, a sigh.

A burst of laughter from the other room, a bowl clattering into the kitchen sink.

That basketball thumping against the floor, courtesy of the unknown boy upstairs.

When I wake in the morning, disoriented by complete stillness

I fumble around for my glasses, misplaced once again.

I sit up in my empty bed, covers unrumpled on the other side,

And breathe in the utter isolation hovering above my head.

Then I remember- the cats live somewhere else with the laughing voice and the late night kitchen noises.

Treading carefully across wooden floors, mindful of the couple below,

I whisper remorseful apologies into the darkness when I drop my phone.

When I eventually put on my hearing aids, I am always, always startled

By the screaming of the old water pipes, and the loud voices of my neighbors.

Their grumpy dog is barking, their tv blasting the songs of the early morning hour.

A door slams, and across the hall Debbie is arguing with her boyfriend.

Below my window, the tall man from next door stands still by the rusted gate-

His two little dogs run joyously around the small yard barking at the trees.

A car growls down the street and something bangs in the alley behind the building,

As I open up my fridge to scrounge around for things to pack for lunch.

Behind the door of Apartment B, I tiptoe around gathering my thoughts,

And I try to make myself disappear so as not to draw attention.

Seems I can’t take up enough space to make signs of life in my own home.

Yet I want to play my guitar loudly or sing a song I’ve dreamed about,

I want to laugh in the mornings to dispel this throbbing loneliness.

It’s been six months now since I went away to start over.

Went back to the old neighborhood where I’ve once lived when I was three.

But none of my people are here anymore, and nothing looks the same.

And I still live quietly upstairs and pad around in sock-clad feet.

But I’ve stopped apologizing for living, yes- I will fight this numbing pain.

The sun comes up in the morning and fills my space with so much joy.

Evenings I watch the western light shows, letting peace fill in all the cracks-

Shadows dancing boldly between flashes of white upon my walls.

And I play my guitar with abandon- Carcassi Study No.3 or Amazing Grace,

I vow to flood my home with courage, to spar with the chronic beast.

TMD 4/8/24

30-day Poem Prompts by @beausia

April 8: Chronic