I have the post card from Kathmandu,
and the hastily scribbled letter
on paper with a Hotel Alexandria letterhead.
She called me from Bruges,
my one and only conversation
with that part of my world.
And now, here she is in my parlor.
A tan from Tahiti, a Tongan bracelet,
and stories out of Singapore, Bhutan and Bali.
My next question is,
can anything happen in this part
of the world?
Is resting up from a journey
still a journey?

She saw Peter she says.
She spent an hour or two with her mother.
Same issues. The more the world turns,
the more some people resist its motion.
She had lunch at the Cafe Rita.
And dinner with friends at the Pink Arcade.
She even tested out the job market…
about as seriously as those times
she gave up smoking pot.

Fact is, she’s doing stuff
that’d fit neatly into short sentences,
fill the back of a postcard.
Anything more complicated
and a letter could still contain it all.
Worse comes to worse,
she could always fit her life
into a phone call made
to someone or other
she’s met along the way.
And there’s always the trinkets:
a coffee cup from Starbucks,
an MP3 of Steely Dan,
jeans from Target,
a World Series t-shirt.

Watch out world,
it’s your parlor next.