Take Me There

Photo by Amanda Jones on Unsplash

I wrote this prose poem in April 2017 while sitting outside watching as the world before me sprang to life with the coming of Spring.

The green fingertips of the trees dance gaily along the path of the sky’s breath—it is the essence of all things lovely, the springtime. Men line the streets, tending to their yards, while women apply touches of color in the gardens. Children chase their dogs, and together, they drop down to roll in the sea of green. Two lovers stroll down the road, fingers interlaced. Two lovers perched in a tree, together construct a home. Two lovers sit under the very same tree, lips barely touching. Then, there is I.

I watch in wonder at the planes overhead. Where are you going? Take me there. I see the souls walking in front of me. Tell me your story. Let me in. And yet, though so many faces, familiar and not, go by in a daze, I find myself often untouched. You see, my heart longs to connect with the people I never met. My ears long to hear a language I cannot comprehend. My tongue wants to taste the fruits of far off nations. My feet long to travel the roads across the sea.

But now, in front of me, the dog bathes in the sun. Cars drive by so in a rush towards unknown destinations. Where are you going? Take me there. People comb their lawns with these things we call rakes. (But why?) My lover tends to his yard, placing into the ground a box on a pole—a home for letters. I wish to be where they send me letters. Now I watch as children run down the street with their mother; they laugh at the dog. They smile at me. My lover laughs at their joy. And though I smile, my laughs carry across the sea. Where are you going? Please, take me there.

Photo by Renee Fisher on Unsplash