Loneliness
By Abigail Hollingsworth
Most acute in a room full of people.
Faces, everywhere, oblivious, unseeing me.
Try to get close.
Invisible door,
Wrought from some invisible difference,
and gilded so shiny.
I want to open it,
But when I get close enough I
see scratches in the gold.
Nothing, but rust beneath.
Not love but more loneliness,
more than Before.
Now I don't even have myself.
I back away
to search for a new door.
I haven't found it yet.
It is hard to find something when you don't know what it looks like,
And when so many doors fool me
into thinking that in that gilded shine,
I can see my reflection.
