Wanderlust

WRITING FINDING FEELING SEEING

I paid for something falling a bit apart, between us we kept it a bit together

Asana…around the world.

Asana…around the world.

I searched for peace

The trash on the beach is not from people
it’s from birds: I picked up glass and rusted 
nails in dunes that have entire ecosystems
protected by “do not enter” signs but we did,
I used the hand without the glove I wasn’t thinking 
again I took the G to the F to the Q to the bus
I just want the ocean and bites of space. 
I sense hot sand and small waves a slice of 
breeze and orange is enough. 

I am cold at the beach I am
dissatisfied by location, again. 
And I could not stay for I believed them:
The tide will keep rising and soaking 
blankets pushing us to the one-way street.

I searched for peace I searched for peace
I saw your face her picture is above my desk 
Bhageshwori, Beirut, the reaction the encore 
and I knew the song had mattered you swallow 
a pill every night because of it. 

And I found a piece of me running nine miles
over the bridge with a zero-speed bicycle
I paid for something falling a bit apart
between us we kept it a bit together
 
hardly is the coffee just right,
and I want more summer storms.
I want more uncut river trails
and coffee filters, lighter cookware.

I methodically keep notes for this type of thing
to want: bravery, more mountains, dual coast
weather systems, less crosswords more days
without subways. Steel-cut oats with icy milk

I search for peace with sand all over
my body, my strength, another race
another heart rate, bring me sun talk
to my soul write the descant just promise
we’ll play above the basic melodies. 

cabinporn:

Abandoned A-frames in Lago General Carrera, Chilean Patagonia.
Contributed by Joanna Young.

cabinporn:

Abandoned A-frames in Lago General Carrera, Chilean Patagonia.

Contributed by Joanna Young.

I asked myself for peace

And found a piece of me

"There’s no right way to be a woman. There’s no field guide. At the end of the day, ignore what they tell you is right for you. Only you know that. All I can ask is that you look at the direction your toes are pointed in before you take a single step. Make sure you see yourself in your stride.

Choose you.”

You and I (Elephant Gun)

Between you and I is an allotted space 
formed from a twig in the sand we drew
in summer time is blurred by the trains
we get on the wrong way, so take the bus, 

so get walking. I’m caring again about prosaic things,
the sun’s heat like a nipping dog, innocently excited.
We were just playing, there is no real harm today.

The elephant gun’s mandolin fits well with my rhythmic
walk to the L train this time, it is farther but it is faster.
The animal grieves for their loved ones on the subway
dusted with blank stares, anonymity coiled inside

human life, life. A human being/doing can happen paralleled,
we tried the crossword again, you and I, the space between
us trialled by the spaces given for the meaning of words. 

The meaning of wordlessness says more to me now,
I’ve discovered. Once you go to a place you give up
describing. It was fine, it was a place where things 
happen. I am different but so would anybody.

And we’re all back here now, lanky skyscrapers
The Rip Tide coming through speakers on Kent
beer in hand, all things suppressed, tight hamstrings

from the run around docks dotted on the east river
near where the sandhogs dug the tunnels,
how that book meant so little to you and I.
Maybe we judged it by its cover. Maybe

arches and fins from the southwest were manmade
and maybe I didn’t mean any of what I said.
You and I cannot do the crossword

we formed a to-don’t list for our bodies.
No more tattoos, no more sprained knees.
Absolutely no touching, remember the line
in the sand? It’s at an ocean you see how

huge the world is, they tell me that again and again.
But a land-locked place with fractured grace,
an elevation from 194 feet to 29,028

this to me is hugeness. Let me be lost
in conifer forests and montane grasslands.
Let me be in bursting cities invisible with vision.
Let me space this out with a ruler, our dividing line

You and I.
Let me, to let.
To allow a lightness, that all change

even good change, is loss.
That loss is good, 
the elephants will grieve
all of it for us.