My Folly

Left alone

to find my single self,

I thought I'd need to build

a new identity.

I constructed Widow:

elderly, grieving,

coming to terms;

just me and my cats.

I called this

'learning to be with me'.

I'd never lived

alone before.

Except for those cats.

Then one of them died.

Now it was just

her brother and me.

We clung to each other,

bonded more fiercely.

I refined my construct:

old witch with black cat.

When a very nice man

spoke of new friendship,

I missed whatever hint

he might have meant.

I blathered on, about 
how my cat had become

my Significant Other.

Now that man doesn't call.

I did need time for myself.

I needed self-sufficiency. But

I never meant to construct
loneliness.

For 'Poems in April' at 'imaginary garden with real toads', we were asked to write about a folly — some foolish or eccentric construction to satisfy one's own whim (well, that's my definition and I'm sticking to it). 

I'm also submitting this one to Midweek Motif at Poets United, which this week offers the topic, Foolishness.