Journey

Were it summer, I wouldn’t have heard him come in

Not the crunch of leaves to herald his arrival

No

He came to tell me his stories

Those of mysterious lands from afar

Such as I wouldn’t have seen from my hearth

The pot I was stirring boiled dry 

Until an acrid, unfamiliar smoke filled my throat

But the agony of seeing such wonder through his eyes alone

Numbed me to the small loss of my small home

I listened as he regaled me

Speaking slowly and clearly, as though deliberate

Driving home my ignorance

The lack of romance in my life

I watched him become animated 

And thought I saw a glimmer of mockery 

As he watched me closely

Peering in the darkness of my stone kitchen

At my concealed excitement

When he was finally gone

As suddenly as he came

I took a pen upon paper

And signed on it my name

I told Mama and Papa that I would be gone for a while

I knew in my heart though

They wouldn’t see me until the end of time

Yes, for those far-flung lands that day I set off

One day, my stories would light the fire under someone’s pot

Not a woman, not a man, not a being I was to be

An example, a story, an idea for someone else

That would be me

The capes and the silk stockings, the hard labour of scrubbing the deck

I took hell fire, but I didn’t turn back

Across mountains and seas, I took the roads I came upon

A rolling stone too, I was called by some

The stories I’d heard, they were not all true

But at least I knew, that now I knew

I walked until I tired, and I lay myself down

Under a magnificent oak tree, under a sky with no cloud

I closed my eyes and heard the brook babble

I was home, more than I ever was, in my mansion

Then suddenly, I felt my spirit rise and leave me

Saying goodbye to my shell, continuing its journey…