Friday, January 28, 2011

A Reluctant Nation of One.

We are not meant
to be solitary creatures.
I have discovered this recently.

I became the subject,
of a cruel experiment,
in isolation and exile.
The experiment was set in motion
by someone that I had loved,
and carried out
by me.

I had my life pulled out from under me
and was forced
to start all over again.
It was a rebirth of sorts,
this time,
I was now an abandoned and frail infant
suffering from a weak heart
that would confine me
to the incubator of my new home.

Years ago
a study was done
of infants abandoned
and raised as orphans.
These children,
these tiny new machines,
snuggled deep
into donated stuffed animals;
and spooned each other,
found and held tiny hands,
if placed together in cribs.
They would coo in unison
when something felt good.
They would cry in unison
when something felt bad.
There was a inert need
to share
even the most rudimentary
emotion and thought.
It was discovered
that the human machine
is not meant to be alone.

And I have now discovered this as well.
I have spent the last four months
in solitary confinement.
I have a lovely cell
on the water,
with a glorious view.
I have fallen into
a routine of existing
but I am not living.
I rise each day,
return home,
and then repeat.
A friend of mine
from across the pond
asked me when the experiment had begun,
"How are you?"
And I replied,
"I am living without purpose,
and purposely living without."

I have no one to coo with
when I feel good.
I have no one to cry with
when I feel sad.
The soft hands
that used to bring me such comfort
are now the ghosts of graceful birds
that fly just out of my reach
in dreams.
The body
that used to allow me inside,
and create the union of souls
is gone.
And in it's absence
I find that I am no longer complete
or capable
of being human.

Twelve years
as a "nation of two"
have been removed from my life
by the rough hands
of an uncaring, union paid butcher.
I wonder
if she feels the same ache
and loss?
I wonder
if she laments the dissolve,
and the dissolution,
of our "nation of two",
as I do?

I wonder,
because this is all I have left.
and of course memories,
and regret.
Inside a .50 caliber ammunition case
hidden at the back of my closet,
is a tiny black box
that holds an engagement ring,
taken back.
The ring,
such a small precious thing;
now resembles a rusty bulldozer
or a fallen oak.
It is far to heavy
for me to lift
and dispose of
by myself.

We are not meant
to be solitary creatures.
I have discovered this recently.
And this discovery
gives me little comfort.
It is just another painful reminder
of my life shared
that is now lost;
and my new nation of one.


  1. Wow. Yet another powerful poem! I hope you are putting these into a book.

  2. You write of your pain so beautifully. Thank you for sharing.