Beth Camp Historical Fiction

Saturday, November 22, 2008

#138 Grateful . . .

I’m grateful for my cot.
It’s everything I’m not
portable, comfortable, and shiny.
I’ll disassemble it in just a month; I must
take all my courage. I’ll thrust
it into storage, where it shall not
travel south by plane like me,
where once again, I’ll be free
and on the road.

Instead I’ll fall limitless into summer – yahoo!
Brazil, Argentina, Chile, Bolivia, and Peru,
they all beckon me south,
filling my eyes, ears and mouth
with delicacies and dreams unexpected.
I only ask what harm,
with my writer’s notebook under my arm,
could I come to – so unprotected,
as I embark on a low-key, six-month travel,
what mysteries soon to unravel?

A teacher once told a student never to write a poem that rhymes. I say, “Why not?” Although I’m grateful for family and friends, for each day that brings sunshine, libraries, art, and writing into my life, and my husband most of all, even if he adores football, we’re getting ready to travel to South America for six months. We leave December 31st, so this poem came this morning as a kind of preparation, just in time to be grateful again to the wonderful community of writers on Sunday Scribblings!