Single at seventy,
sanguine, but so alone -
or so we think. She disagrees and says,
use your eyes, friends, use your ears
The grit that sits in parking lots,
the fungus slowly seeping into speed bumps,
they witness me.
The coke-can sculptures
in low vacant lots,
the weeds with crinkled heads
filtering the sunset;
the slanted afternoons hung down
unraveling on the plaster,
they cherish me.
The dying sapling on the corner
with its leaves that droop and dart
like schools of fishes, dancing
whirlpools into Autumn windshields,
they applaud me.
The rusty stairway to the fire escape
where no one ever stands,
the undeveloped alley with
its walls of brick on either hand;
we mutely fray down to decay together.
We will not renovate.
We’ll be torn down. But
they accompany me
into loud anonymity.
Not once –
never once in my life –
have I been alone.
Causes Deborah Fruchey Supports
NAMI (National Alliance for the Mentally Ill)