These words are not my own...but the thoughts are very similar to mine.

The Breather

by Billy Collins

Just as in the horror movies

when someone discovers that the phone calls
are coming from inside the house

so too, I realized
that our tender overlapping
has been taking place only inside me.

All that sweetness, the love and desire—

it’s just been me dialing myself
then following the ringing to another room

to find no one on the line,

well, sometimes a little breathing

but more often than not, nothing.

To think that all this time—

which would include the boat rides,

the airport embraces, and all the drinks—

it’s been only me and the two telephones,
the one on the wall in the kitchen

and the extension in the darkened guest room upstairs.

Provide

Lately I’ve discovered the wonders of Robert Frost’s poetry. I mean, I’ve always liked his stuff, but let’s be honest, The Road Not Taken and Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening get really old after seeing them on posters and reading them in English class all through middle and high school.

Shockingly enough, he wrote a lot of other stuff (which I happen to like better). Here’s one of my new favorites:

Provide, Provide

 The witch that came (the withered hag)

To wash the steps with pail and rag

Was once the beauty Abishag,

The picture pride of Hollywood.

Too many fall from great and good

For you to doubt the likelihood.

Die early and avoid the fate.

Or if predestined to die late,

Make up your mind to die in state.

Make the whole stock exchange your own!

If need be occupy a throne,

Where nobody can call you crone.

Some have relied on what they knew,

Others on being simply true.

What worked for them might work for you.

No memory of having starred

Atones for later disregard

Or keeps the end from being hard.

Better to go down dignified

With boughten friendship at your side

Than none at all. Provide, provide!