Am I going to end up alone?
There are worse things than that,
I suppose. But I still want to know:
where will I end up?
On a deserted highway
in a broken-down car with
no spare tire, no cell service,
and no one to trust?
In an alley behind a dumpster,
bruised, broken, bleeding
because my skirt was too short
and my shoulders were bare?
Behind a broken chair,
cowering in fear because
years ago I made a choice
and it was the wrong one?
Near the scene of unlikely crime
that no one could have anticipated,
shot through some vital organ
for believing in something?
Under the mangled carcass of a burning building,
an unrecognizable remnant of human,
a faceless name who tried to do good
and will never know if she succeeded?
At the end of a tunnel of light,
turned away from a pearly gate
to face a freezing eternity
in the black of loneliness?
Or maybe these thoughts are irrelevant
because they are improbable, and because
death is not as frightening
as the thought of living lonely.
No comments:
Post a Comment