Grip
More junk from the mind of a travel-maddened, exhausted, over-partied, distant chica wandering lost and in a daze through South America. I think I have hit a point where my thinking is becoming seriously affected by this experience and has yet to settle down. Its an odd experience.
Anyway, as usual, an apology and a reminder that this really isn’t here for you. Its here because I can. hugs to all my homies in da big hizzouse of da world
He called out over the noise
“hold on to each other!”
afraid we would lose each other in the press of people.
I was afraid
I would lose myself
“HOLD ON to each other”, I thought.
Profound.
I, who had never really held on to anyone
There, with strangers
Wanting to hold on
to HOLD ON!
“Who are strangers,” I thought
“but friends we haven’t yet met.”
An old saying that made me smile.
One I usually scoff at -
I hate that shite.
But not that night.
I held on
With every part of me.
I asked them to carry me gently to the places where the poets are
so I could stroll once more with Clare and Cohen and Shelley
like I used to when I was young
when things felt more real
I almost found it again
that place where I could see and taste and touch and smell
and love
where I could breathe and know I was alive
Then the crowd was gone
and the stranger-friends dispersed
scattered in the four directions
and I’m on the road again
a long bus ride with time to ponder
the nature of love and friendship
23 hours of uninterrupted road
to hold on to