I watch the weather where I was
and where I want to be;
too cold for summer, too hot for winter,
too comfortable to be close to anywhere.
I’d stood at the sea’s entrance and
seen the smudge of Africa, nine miles
close, not knowing your blood, that it flows
from the other side.
So that’s why the words zanahoria, azúcar, taste so
sweet and alfombra, almohada, feel
But you wouldn’t understand.
Between a figment of memory
and a fragment of imagination
I begin to invent the past,
explain the future,
making the present a gift;
making it magic.
I crossed the Atlantic, dipped toes into the Pacific’s
east, Oriental Miss Columbus me.
Meanwhile you were on the west coast
of another kingdom.
We were strangers then.
Lean in, listen keen
to the drumming of my heart: that
all along this was a call
for you to come and take
me back to your Mediterranean Sea. Continue reading Mediterranean (from Tarifa to you)
Embers eternal but we’re a ways from raging with the fire Roll another one and take me back to other alleys, streets more lit other lives more lived, more alive when I soaked myself in rum-laced coke with lime, for you a line and we laughed oh the laughter it was intoxicating, wicked so fleeting yet so divine For the post-sober night prolongs your smile … Continue reading Embers eternal
I first discovered that the Melbourne Cup was a Big Deal when my kindergarten class ran our own sweepstakes. There was no money involved, of course, and I don’t recall watching the race, but every 5 and 6 year old in the class drew a small piece of paper from a Danish cookie tin. Thus were we each assigned a horse. Being a very rational … Continue reading A Big Deal? Melbourne Cup memories, millennials and Michelle Payne
To avoid confusion, I generally insist that English is my native language. I received all of my education in English, it’s what we spoke in my family growing up and it’s what we speak now.
But technically, it’s not my first language.
What would happen if I were to relearn my first language? What might that unlock? Continue reading No Canto?
Five firsts for 2016
I have a friend who, at the age of 29, saw, smelled and heard the sea for the first time. And then, for his 30th birthday, he went ten pin bowling for the first time.
Which got me thinking: is this what my life has come to? Is there, as Solomon laments, nothing new under the sun for me? What significant “firsts” have I experienced this year?
I racked my brains and they are few but fine …
Continue reading What have you done for the first time this year?
A personal atlas of alcohol.
Before you get the wrong impression, this post is not about booze-filled nights from my backpacking days. It’s an anthology of anecdotes and memories, linked by a common theme: alcoholic beverages.
My discovery of different drinks parallels some important memories. These are what I’d like to share with you.
So let me take you from my childhood, all around the world and back home again. In this brief autobiography, I’ll let the alcohol do the talking. Continue reading My biography, as told by my booze
You cried the day I left. Well, I like to think grey skies and rain spattered across the windshield means I meant something to you. Part of me wants to say you were a detour. But that would be unfair on you and, frankly, inaccurate. My life the novel, and you’re a chapter – no less vital to the story than the ones that preceded you, or the ones that will be … Continue reading Seeya, Sydney
This time last year I … … said goodbye to a lot of people. Too many for one 24-hour period. This time last year I was coming home. It was my second last day in town, last night in town. It was a bit of a whirlwind day, and yet the image preserved in my mind is clearer than the photo you see above. This … Continue reading 365 days ago today
I’ve finally gotten around to the task of going through the 12,000+ photos I took in my two years in South America to select which ones to delete, which ones to keep, and which ones to develop and stick in my photo album. It’s a helluva task. Lesson learned: stop taking so many photos. You don’t need 20 pictures – over split second intervals – of someone … Continue reading The photos you delete anyway