after walking around
and around and around
the tiny streets of Greece
trying to find one specific place
that may
or may not
be closed
an evening in a roof-top hot tub
[even if it is colder than expected]
while gazing across the way
at the lit-up acropolis
and thinking of all the birds you saw
while wandering
and all the great food you had
between your thousands of steps
that’s
the way to end a day
i still can’t get over
how much this city,
though so different
from my concrete jungle,
can remind me so much
of home
from the pigeons
and mourning doves
and stray cats
everywhere
to the instances of
so many different
languages being spoken
and written down
to its walkability
and metro system,
even the tourist traps
are cute reminders
of my home’s downtown
[feeling at home
even in a foreign city —
the story of new yorkers abroad]
the Acropolis was built
stone by stone by hand
and when it was eroded
by siege
or nature
or time
it was rebuilt
stone by stone
by hand
and these days
though the hands are working
machinery
the conservation process
is rebuilding things
to seem
as they would have been
thousands of years ago
still
stone
by
stone
being dehydrated
while walking around in Greece
is nice because
you don’t have to use the restroom
nearly as much as usual
but it’s not completely great, because
you’re dehydrated
in Greece
“seat must be occupied
during takeoff and landing”
it feels like there should be
a metaphor
in there
somewhere
but i can’t seem
to find any
allegories
currently
just before
a big trip
the anticipation
the nerves
the excitement
the hours and hours of ‘what to do’
audiobooks
and d&d style games
and maybe just chatting
and maybe singing with musicals
and maybe
just maybe
the animals will connect
the way we usually do
on long car trips
organizing, hoping, working, planning
i’m waffling between excitement and dread
but the dread is the minutiae, the details, the prep
the excitement is the visit, the fun, the experiences
and how much time will i end up spending at Umami?
also
when driving
takes the joy
out of the date of birth
(but time is a mortal construction,
both you and your spouse agree);
celebrating
the next day
is perfectly acceptable
(and even encouraged)
driving
on one’s birthday
(even when one generally enjoys driving)
is a bit of a let-down…
but at least
one can come home
to one’s loud and weird cat
and an ice cream cake for late evening
and general feelings of belonging
being back
in
new york city.
[home]
is it really
mon anniversaire?
is this really
la date de ma naissance?
it doesn’t feel like it
(nothing feels like anything anymore)
(but maybe it will
when we’re home again)
(after the drive)
kipventures 