Loneliness Lasagna

I am lucky enough to write once a week with strangers over two months at a time. This is code for: I happen to have a Zoom account and “open” class with the awesome @John Roedel.

What happens over 8 weeks, is these people become (better than) family. Not because of any one thing in particular, but more due to the vulnerability that is shared without judgement.

One of those kindreds, has given me permission to share a piece here. Because LONELINESS is a universal topic. Thanks to Melanie Jennings for her brave and courageous heart.

LONELINESS LASAGNA

Loneliness lasagna, 

Make once- eat for the next 25 days. 

Originally served to me by you, 

And recently recreated on my own.

Usually I follow recipes to the teaspoon, 

but this one I just eyeballed,

crossed my fingers, 

and sent it off.

First layer- invisibility. 

Spread it on thick.

It’s essential in the loneliness formula 

to make sure you feel completely invisible. 

You sneeze? No bless you's. 

You speak? No response. 

You cry? They’re already looking the other way. 

This is the foundational piece,

so slather it to completely coat the bottom of your 9x13.

Next layer- emptiness. 

Dump it all in there.

Listen to the distinct “plop” it makes when it hits the invisibility, 

like a penny falling to the bottom of a well. 

How can emptiness feel so full? 

A riddle I wish I didn’t have to contemplate.

After that, comes the self-blame and low self-worth layer. 

This should have a paste-like consistency,

in which you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. 

They’re friends who travel together, 

and this ingredient cannot be left out.

No matter how icky and sticky it feels rolling around in your heart,

it belongs there, 

and you need to taste it.

Now before we repeat this combination three more times, 

a note for the alienated chef:

Equal parts sorrow, and equal parts resentment that burns so bright,

it rivals the heat of the oven itself. 

That’s what sets this dish apart from the rest.

And while we’re at it, one more pointer;

Don’t forget the salt.

This dish needs the holiest of tears to season it to perfection.

Do. Not. Skimp. On the tears.

The last layer before it meets the oven, 

is one final sprinkle of hope. 

Grate it thinly so it can sneak in undetected.

As it bakes

it'll bubble up,

Covering everything that came before.

And the final thing you have to know about loneliness lasagna, 

is that when it’s served to you, 

it'll taste best if you call up a friend

and eat it together.

If you are interested in learning more about opportunities to write in the Village,

LOOK HERE.