The Journey 2

It will not serve you to wait, to linger, to idle,
To turn around and look one more time,
To count the lines on your forehead,
To watch the empty rural road.
Instead, buy the bus ticket.
Sell the ring, the gold necklace,
Walk the beach you only saw in travel brochures –
sell the house you couldn’t bear to leave.
It will not serve you to cling to what was.
Let the shears of tomorrow cut the vine,
Let your future whisper in your ear,
Let the storm take everything and tear at it.
Go toward the only place you really know –
even if it feels like you are falling
even if your ankles are in quick sand and nobody
is there to throw you a rope.
When you arrive, tired and hungry,
your whole self will greet you at the door,
will take you into hands that smell like
Onion and ham hock and grandmother.
Be glad you didn’t check the variables
or track the odds. Sleep now, the deep sleep
of release, the child beside you.
You carried her across the river on your back.
Smooth her hair while she sleeps.
Smooth her hair while she sleeps.