I joined an Internet dating site. It was almost five months ago, and the immediate reason was research for writing. I know: every predator says that. Then again, I got my first black eye by walking into a door (c. 1960), and sometimes a dream is just a dream.

I’ll admit I could use some company too. But like the guys I’ve met, I haven’t been exactly clear about what I was seeking, and so of course I haven’t found it.

But it hasn’t been bad. And I’m not giving up. I’m postponing.

I tried a few tradesmen, thinking I’d encounter the clarity a man can get from working with his hands, but I met aging aimless hippies instead, broken bodies and humble hearts who just happened to be where they were. I thought I’d go for distance, because I knew I didn’t want daily, but I didn’t realize till I tried that I can’t create a relationship over distance; the best I can hope for is a relationship first, and then the move to distance …

What I really learned is that I don’t have the energy to establish a new relationship right now. That takes time and self-disclosure, the two ingredients I’m pouring into this blog. So for the time being, I’m tabling the new friend search, and writing more lessons.

But I had no bad experiences in these months. I had one provocative email correspondence, two surreal coffee dates, an electronic escapade with an impulsive poor pirate, and the inspiration to produce four sonnets.

I’ve decided to take a lesson break this week and post the poems.

     I wrote this one in Eugene, while getting to know suitor #1 via email. I met him about three weeks later, and my attraction evaporated immediately. Yes there were misrepresentations – I don’t know why – but the real issues were lack of self-confidence, creaky voice, romantic affectation. This was a man who bragged about his earthquake kit but didn’t have a savings account. Before meeting him, though, while I was enjoying him, I composed Compensation:

You write you lack companionship, the touch
a woman visiting can add, and yet
I like to think I needle you as much
as if I shared your weekend. Don’t forget
to whom your inner monologue’s addressed;
you speak to me and you don’t make a sound.
Our senseless selves are openly expressed.
We feel attraction where there is no ground.

I’m savoring our daily interchange.
It’s like a secret I don’t have to share
with my dependents. None of them suspects
a budding matriarch could be so strange
she’s sending tender phrases through the air
instead of pheromones, ahead of sex.