Oct 13 2006
Baring my soul, and bearing my soul…
I often get melancholy when I travel, when I’m away from my place of comfort.
It’s past 7 o’clock in the evening and I’m still in Chicago facing a flight delay of 3 hours. I feel like I’ll never get home. I want to go home. I’m trying to go home. And yet I just can’t seem to get there.
On the plane from Heathrow, I wrote a poem. It hit me suddenly, like a bolt of lightning. I grabbed a scrap of paper and wrote. You may find it trite. The meter is simple. There is no sophistication in word or rhyme. And yet, I’m feeling extremely moved by it… how it makes me cry each time I read it.
It has no title. I suppose it, too, is about trying to get home.
Remember how it used to be
When you were you and I was me?
When we were we? Remember then?
I want to become us again.
It’s this tiny little nursery rhyme of a thing, a snippet of something that aspires to be considered poetry. Dr. Seuss could have written it (probably better, too) and yet in so few words, and such simplicity of thought, it captures exactly what I’ve been feeling.
Somehow, in the past few years, my husband and I have both moved away from who we are, one in response to the other or maybe just slowly by degrees. But somehow, neither of us is in the place we settled into so happily for so long. I know change happens, that it’s inevitable. This isn’t about change, though. It’s way more subtle than that.
Traveling back to where one wants to be is difficult, always so difficult.
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