Amma Susan stayed in her cave three years.
Alone.
No one
could pull her out.
(We battle our demons alone.)
No restaurant dinners, no galas, no fêtes,
Alone
(Outside
I see you—
I greet you.)
The desert mothers foresaw the end times
lived alone
apart
prayer and self-flagellation,
speaking to others through walls,
In my bath
I float
disconnected
(no matter the uncooked dinner;
no matter the barking dogs
in the yards of neighbors I haven’t met)
Desert mothers faced the devil
alone
in darkness
or not alone,
still alone.
The water is warm:
I hover
detached
(no matter the footsteps on the sidewalk,
the unread book, empty bottle of wine;
no matter gunshots just out of hearing)
I am (alone).

Photo by Maria Perme
Haylee Schwenk has recently become acutely aware of how much love surrounds her. She practices poetry as one way to acknowledge and contribute to the beauty in the world and is grateful for many generous writers who offer community and counsel. Her work has been published in Great Lakes Review, Q/A, Sheila-Na-Gig, and Pudding Magazine.