j’ai espère que
je pouvais penser
en français
i’m fairly certain that is incorrect
damn close to gibberish
but the sentiment still stands
i wish i wish i wish
i could think
in french
maybe i could understand and speak it better
then
[was french the language my Mom studied in school?]
[could we have practiced together
if life didn’t suck so hard
in 2001?]
we are now at the state
of being home around a week
i’m getting farther and farther away from
being able to say
“i just got back from Europe”
i’m soon going to have to use terms like
“recently”
and then “last month”
and “earlier this year”
i just want to keep saying “just”
it helps with the fact that
my brain is still 100%
in Europe
scouring my brain for
an inch more
of something
to take the edge off
i know i can drop in
to my own mind
and adjust my sights/my thoughts/my realities
in order to smooth out my day to day
[are my natural highs
the same as someone else’s
chemical imbibitions?]
hitting that point of the summer
where my goosebumps and shivers come out
indoors
for everyone in the united states insists on
blasting their air conditioners as high
and as cold
as machine-ly possible
and myself
[and the earth]
am[are] the one[s] who suffer for it
my shirt
still kind of smells
like all the memories
made
in Europe
unfortunately
it’s all the mundane
or slightly grungy memories
that this scent evokes
walking and walking and walking
in shirts i’d already maybe worn twice
mixing sweat with deodorant
with sunscreen
with city
i washed this shirt well
put it through an extra rinse and everything
i guess when a trip gets into the fibers of clothing
it’s sort of like a city getting into your own bones
it just won’t go
away on its own
wholesome giggles
planning secrets
for the sharing
buying surprise presents
in front of the recipient
without them even
knowing
why does the word “sly”
have so much of a bad vibe
can’t the connotation be
best friends
planning
for a joyful reveal?
pondering poetry
pensively pensating in poetical form
what is poetry if not
words hanging out on a jungle gym
just waiting for their moment
to show off
how come i am so hyper-aware
of every moment in time
and how they will become memories
in the next moment
so much so that, even trying to experience them, i am often thinking
fifteen minutes[at least] into the future
i feel like i was barely in the moment
of looking forward to this trip
and only in it
for half a second
and now i’m back
and looking back on
experiences i know took time to have
but now they live only in my
memory
home
decompressing
[depressing]
but enjoying
the thunderstorm
that has welcomed us
home
i never, ever thought i would identify
so strongly with a place
but my heart
leaps
at being called “a New Yorker”
and i can’t help but write
countless poems about
the place
and the people
and the identity
and my heart beats harder
and my anxiety lulls softer
when anywhere that reminds me
of my chosen home
[would i still feel like a New Yorker
if we fled to Paris
for safety?]
kipventures 