Solitude
Like a knight preparing for dragons,
she arms herself for a day alone—
instead of a sword, a journal of handmade
paper and an antique fountain pen.
For provisions, a bottle of spring water.
As talismans a baby doll, half-hand
bitten off and raggedly glued, smiling
bear fetish, tarnished brass pendulum.
For outer illumination a candle,
hoping meditation will bring inner light.
No shield for protection from demons
she knows will arise from the midnight
of her soul, shadows which must be
faced —and embraced.
She retreats to her room for solitude,
closes the door to the world,
opens the door to her self.