Stockholm

And to travel so far
Just to gather my thoughts
Perhaps it’s just an excuse…
To remove myself from the thunder
Of America, turn my clocks upside down and
The cookie cutter esthetic of my homeland;
To the old and the new, the foreign
All at once it makes so much clearer
The importance of the soft fur of home.

The removal of the known and entering the world
Of the less known
And yet I’m welcomed with the native tongue
If I kept my mouth shut a while longer
The scarlet brand of the states may not have changed things.

This is the time of the early meal for me
Of foods I’d never buy for my own home
The time of languishing gazes upon walls and ceiling
The slowing of retention, the attention to detail
To trim and lighting fixtures, the ease with which
The old and new flow here, how classic wood
Does not fight with the glass and the steel of today;

This is the time when I fear for the children
Of America, their one language and one pair of eyes
Their parents no better, scraping off variations
On a theme (their right), and yet
My sadness continues for them.

For me, even the white coffee cup
Is in tune with the oboe that floats
Through the chandeliers and caresses
The gold leaf of the ceiling.

The ring of the china draws me to
The white gold of the band on my finger
And the depth of commitment that
Knows no measurable distance
Of time or space, the heart and soul
of our love, the warmth of skin that
Exists in memory only seconds ago
and seconds from now, that time apart
Causes discomfort and changes nothing
In the fact that the one I love
Is the only one for me.

As well as the stuttering steps of friends
Made in the past, the delicate pain and
Universal funk has no time line, ESP that
Proves the theory of relativity, to exist in the
Moment, future and past all at once, I feel
Gratitude for my other family, what they have
Shared with me…so many blessings.

My mind slipstreams into my past, friends
And lovers, birthrights and birthdays, some
Seen, most unseen, no blame, just life
filling our smaller cups, the gallon buckets of
Our youth now discarded for the richer reservoirs
Of marriage, children and tree purchasing…

a little mid-European morning reunion
Held in my very wooden hotel room, energy
To be used this way while I have it
Writing now because I can
The must always there, the energy and will
Have been lacking, the tour begins and
The language changes, less eloquence and
More practical, perhaps this is why my
Less practical words find their way here
To be held for a quiet time when they
Are needed or better understood.

To come all this way
To write down what I already know
May seem strange but it’s what I do
The others may feel my distance from them
But it’s me that is so very far away.