Beth Camp Historical Fiction

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Jet Lag

I awake speaking Spanish,
not sure where I've slept.
I hear strange bird calls,
and the sky is dark
when it should be light.
Tomorrow seems an ocean,
impenetrable, and I find myself
thinking of gardens crowded
with trumpet lilies
and hummingbirds.
My daughter says
I've flown too fast.
She holds my hand and tells me
my spirit will catch up.
I am home.