Just take me back to Italy or Ipswich.

10246808_10152387513886789_7785261663538854280_n - Copy

Pathway to a church in Hadleigh, UK

Tonight, there is no where I want to be so much as the other side of the Atlantic. I imagine that the sun is washing London pink and orange now; it’s summer, and morning comes early. I imagine the beds I have no slept in in a good long while—near Heathrow, and the two-inch mattress on the seventh floor of Manson Place, and the couch in Florence under fourteen-foot-high Tuscan ceilings. The futon in Naples and the bunk at Castle Rock, Edinburgh. The floor of a Dublin hotel room, sneaking. S’s mother’s house near Ipswich, with a little window to the room so you could open it an look out over the street. 

It is hard to remember what’s impossible tonight: how one simply can’t step back into history like a worn pair of shoes. How moments can’t be re-lived like that. How the next time, in any of those beds, would and will be different. 


Firenze, ti voglio bene

I wonder at the mind’s propensity to want to run away—even when happy, even when pleased. If there was a way to have both my worlds together then I’d do it. To spend nights in Europe and days here, writing poetry. Though it is selfish of me to want both places, both sets of people, together, I want it nonetheless. I suppose that I have always wanted everything just so, and am not liable to start becoming more flexible about my preference for my own order, now. 

If I were as talented as my friend, who is both a physicist and a writer, I’d be working on making TARDIS-like things into reality, and quickly. But I am not and so, tonight, I’ll simply write. How much I’d like to wake in London. How tempting memories of Space are. Riding motorbikes over the sidewalk, or cresting a hill to find a castle on the other side. Walking down the Thames, sitting on the guardrails and questioning S about Margaret Thatcher; visiting Peter Pan; the tiny lady brave enough to feed the swans. Those things which are so decidedly European, and therefore far away from me. At least tonight.



One thought on “Just take me back to Italy or Ipswich.

  1. My dearest, this is beautiful and so timely – I am aching for the world across the sea. I would rather be there than anywhere right now, even if the place I am in is cast in the shadows of oak leaves and bathed in Southern sun. I will do my best to invent a TARDIS for you and for myself, but until that moment, can we please hang out soon, somewhere that is perhaps closer than the Tuscan hills we both long for, so we can discuss all the things we haven’t had the chance to in so long?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s