It is strange to think,
As I had not thought before,
About what I’ve sacrificed to be who I am
About how the program I signed up for
Or was signed up in me
Maybe precluded romantic love
Or at least the lasting kind
Because it didn’t fit
With the self-centered mind, the oozing self-consciousness
The interior eye always blinking
That is my way into language.
I watch now, from a small window, the
One that still looks out this way
Some days when I get up from the desk,
I see there was never anyone who could have held me
But still, at 30, it is beginning to trill
That far off siren
That says the race is over
And all have gone home
Having won their partner
And yet, here I was, all the time, waiting
Hadn’t I signed up, too? Done my hair, flattered myself in the mirror.
Hadn’t I pursed my lips and flicked the strands of blond hair
Against some illuminating day’s sun.
Or had it been a dream?
Because there is only me now.
In this one room, with a window that used to look out onto love
Now looking only onto wilderness
And not one single track in a ground
That is overgrown and muddy.