a poem, composed of thoughts on the road
Travel is tiring.
Too many cities, too many long flights, long rides
waking up from jet lag naps with dry eyes,
too much falling asleep and waking up in the wrong place, wrong time zone
too many sunrises and sunsets blurring into one long day
with too many skylines and too many voices speaking too many languages I don't understand.
Too much drinking, dehydration, irritation,
unpacking and repacking and personal baggage,
deciphering unfamiliar accents, counting unfamiliar money, navigating unfamiliar streets;
it's hard to write and think and create when you're in a place with unfamiliar rhythms.
But travel is necessary.
It's the same old itch, the need for more—
more living, more places, more experiences, more feelingsmusicpeople—
more.
I want the world to swallow me up so I don't have to be apart from it,
an observer, a traveler, an experience-r—
I want to be in it and not apart from it,
I want to be the world with its colors sounds smells lights,
I want it to swallow me whole and gobble me up
until there is no more skin and bones between me and the sky earth walls trees trains sheets city streets.
alyssa simone ildefonso manguramas
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