One Year

Charlize says she loves a day in bed

Watching The Real House Wives

But the ache of three-hundred and sixty-five days

With the television the only place of refuge

For familiar unfamiliar faces

Is getting old.

I miss being around strangers—

The rhythmic, anonymous bustle

Of an indifferent crowd. The comforting camaraderie

That only comes

From swimming in a sea

Of the unrecognizable.

Outdoor malls, crowded boardwalks,

Beaches lines with brightly colored umbrellas,

People playing volleyball in the sand

Assuage loneliness when

There is nowhere else to go

But out.

Our common grief

At not being able to

Walk among each other and smile

Safest when we know

No one really knows us

Or is watching.