Tonight, I am alone.
My usual beloved ones all safe in their various spots
I don’t have to worry or consider anything or anyone.
Most days I fall asleep late, lunches packed,
my son tucked in, teeth brushed, checked on.
A cat on my head and a dog under the bed,
my love’s arms wrapped around me.
Exquisite, all, but
tonight I embrace my own company.
Take off the day like a too-heavy sweater
turn on music, dance a little alone and happy in this skin.
I run through the hills for an hour at dusk and return to tea and books,
luxuriate in each bite of a gift of chocolate cake without
voices clamouring for some, too, or piles of dishes to be washed.
This rare treat, to be savoured. I adore my company.
I am a good date, for me.
But by morning I will wake in an all-too-quiet house,
wait anxiously to hear Liam’s feet outside as he runs over from his Dad’s.
“Did you make us scrambled eggs?”
“What did you do without me all night?” “What are you thinking about?”
I rejoice in this uneven tapestry.
Savour the rare moments alone so I can
be consumed with delight when the delicious clamour begins again.
A few hours alone smooths my roughened edges,
lets me be full to the brim with love
at sweet voices, crumbs everywhere, a cat snatching at my ankles.
This blessed, busy life.