Verses for voyagers

My heart sings and breaks for travelers

I meet two backpackers on their way to Byron Bay.
On my rooftop with Thibault and Nitzan, we share a bottle of red, speak of French protests, peace and Palestine.
They bring potato chips for dinner.
”Safe travels.”
“Thank you.”

Two smiling Indian sailors visit my town, seeking respite from weeks at sea.

On Progresso Beach, Mexico, an Argentinian woman shares her maté with me

In Nashville lives a thoughtful blond woman with multiple origin stories.
We meet randomly at the Gypsy Jazz and decide to go for a barhop.
I’m the tourist this time, and, tipsy, we take a photo in the Old Glory.
It’s February, but she makes me feel warm and welcome.

On a cold night in Belfast, I wait for hours at a bus stop.
I build a snowman with a German man.

I stay up late in the Australian hostel with charming men from South America.
They tell me my boyfriend is “fortunada.”

A Canadian couple in their 60s hike up a Nicaraguan volcano with me.
Energetic and joyous, they go higher than I can.

In New Jersey, three Carolinian men (father and sons) watch twenty-year-old naïve me cry in front of unsympathetic flight attendants.
We all missed the same flight.
They take me around Newark and buy me vegetarian Portuguese.
They were gentlemen, at least to me.