there are so many months between me and here and there
but I can’t wait to prepare. I can’t wait to go from wistful dreaming
to actual planning, to opening a duffle bag and beginning to pack.
Clothes and deodorant and soap, various and sundry things to fill 
the space in me (the bag) just like where I’m going will fill the space in me.

a whole entire winter and spring need to pass before this chance comes
and I have to remind myself it’s still a chance, anything can happen
in that amount of time. illness, death, job loss, complete breakdowns
into insanity and then admissions to psych wards – anything is possible
when you can dream. so I want to dream about this

I want to dream of the six hours I’ll be alone in my car singing whatever
the fuck I want at the top of my lungs with the windows rolled down and
fingers playing in the air. I see myself cruising with sunglasses and T Swift,
anticipating my arrival like it’s a six year old’s Christmas morning, like
I am going to run down and see everything there is presented to me:
”Here, this is for you, take what you can while you have the chance.”

Northern New England is not my bag, and who knows what I’ll run into 
in summer, when it can be freezing on the 4th of July, when you visit for
a whole week and don’t ever see the sun. But I don’t care. Neither rain, 
nor cold, nor sticky humidity, nor sweltering heat, however it goes won’t 
deter me from my mission. I am coming there to make art with words. 
I am coming there to hold my sacred space where I’ll teach myself 
to be alone, and write in this aloneness. 

I’m coming to remind myself that there is beauty in this world worth
living for despite of the chaos and detritus. I’m coming so I can know,
not just wonder or hope for or believe, that there are places in this
world where I can find peace. 

My heart is bursting with gratitude and excitement. 

My brain is terrified of how I’ll feel when I have to leave and come home.

Today’s poem prompt words were: various and sundry, arrival, and humidity.

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