Too Late Poem by Maria Barnas

I was cycling across a lull in the city
that turned slowly into houses where people live together
when loneliness jumped on the pillion

and said I'll ride with you a bit I'm going that way anyway
It's not convenient I said. I have to find a beginning
for a letter. Goodbye.

I peeled a red apple and saw the pale
meat looking so withdrawn on its plate
I couldn't eat it. Imagined the woman

you chose instead of me and devised another
country I could live in.
Loneliness had tried out all the chairs

and was just lying down in bed when you called.
You looked so weary I felt free to invite you in.
But you had lots of baggage. Suitcases full

of nimble words too heavy to carry.
The man speaks. Why won't you let me in
is there someone else in there?

No I lie. I'm on my own. I count how many
lies a person can come across in a doorway
and get the impression something's missing.

Translation: 2008, Donald Gardner