First, having scoured all the travel books,
And sold my car,
And gotten my passport and plane ticket
I don my
Backpack of purple canvas
My silly “Earth” shoes
My ‘70’s maroon jeans and top.
I am on my way
Not like Jack Kerouac with his
drunken friends
Cruising down Route 66
But on this plane solo.
I go up,
Higher and higher and yet
The cabin lights dim
The dark night sky
White stars blazing
In the vacuum of space.
I go up.
My coach seat cramping me,
I arrive in the morning light
And no one greets me
To say we’re now in Paris
You are on your own.
First, the airport is full and then
It is fuller and then loud and then
Confusing I am confused and yet
My Earth shoes are confident
They propel me forward
This foreign land is different
This foreign world does not honor confidence
I have to acclimate
To listen without straining
In this far-off place.
And now, I must remind myself
Why I am doing this
As I walk among the natives
Of this foreign land
As they greet long-unseen family
Clutching their Chanel jackets
At the gates
And anyway
You feel awkward over here.
I came to learn about foreign places.
The intention has a goal.
The intention has direction.
I came to witness the differences among us
And the similarities that exist.
I open my eyes and look
Carefully among the crowd
At qualities more universal
Than state or nationality.
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