Having A Drink With Solitude

having a drink with solitude

Some say there is clear daylight

between alone & loneliness. But it’s more

like dusk as I light a fire and sip wine waiting

for characters to pass through the stillness. The Bronte-esque

women who drift in from the moor

with their brier-ripped skirts and complexions pale

and translucent as moonlight

haunting the field with chilling loveliness.


The wind in their bones; wild & restless enough

to seek a writer. Yet, as the hour fades (into the next),

the prospect of their presence wanes. I stare at my phone

hoping someone will call while my fingers begin

twisting bit-of-honey wrappers

into swan and crane, birds I’ve seen on the lake

waiting for a flash of silver or green

to stimulate their hunger. And while boredom’s origami

busies my hands, I think of female names

that start with W. First , my own, then Winnifred,

Wilhamena, Wynona, and Willa. A small list

ending with a woman who immersed herself

in the earth, the scent of loam & prairie grass

and the song of the skylark


that awakened her to evening’s courtship

as it descended upon the house and yard

wooing her with a reflective sense

of solitude. She wrote how it completed her

in beautiful prose. Yet here, it’s not enough. I need

someone to share a glass of chardonnay,

and watch flames leap off the log’s tongue

sparking a conversation. For someone to simply

comment on the shadows or what kind of cheese

should partner the wine.


  1. Wendy,

    Midnight…I’m sipping tea and reading your poem…
    climbing into the lines and living it. It is those moments
    of aloneness that foster the great poems…poems like this one.

    This one calls for champagne.

    Perfect words for the picture, perfect picture for the words.



  2. Thanks so much Sarah

    I deeply appreciate your wonderful commentary’ and it’s good to know you could relate. I imagine that glass of champagne tasted delicious. Again thank you so much!!

    My Best always


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