Population: 1

Woman, I know what it feels like
to wake up and remember every
day that you're just a party of one,
to take a walk at night, from one
edge of town to the other,
the whole half block of it, and see
absolutely nobody, to enter into
the world hoping to brush by
just anyone and to return even
more lonely than when you started.
I know how the world looks
when you realize you are that one
person mentioned on the sign at
the edge of town, the sole soul
inhabiting some particular cold
corner of the globe. I also know
only too well about the questions:
how did I end up like this?
Didn't the population around
here used to be two? Will map
makers ever deem me worthy of
even a dot again? Would I really
feel better if that sign at the edge
of town read "Population: two"?
Probably not, I hate to say. You
have no choice but to populate
your town yourself, with all your
memories and dreams, your old
hopes and fears. Just fill it up
with pictures of the way you
always wanted the world to be,
fill it with the visions of love and
friendship that furnished your
head when you were a girl.
And make your own maps.
make your own dots; be
sure to make your town's dot
especially large and noticeable.
Before you know it, for all anyone
would realize, between the butcher
and the tailor, the seamstress and
the midwife, you'll have yourself
a population of dozens. So, don't
worry about that sign at the edge
of town. No one ever notices those
anyway. And I'll bet the butcher goes
out there one night soon to change it,
to make everything right again.

(2006)