While the Night Writer family hasn’t been writing much here the last few years, that doesn’t mean we haven’t been writing. Tiger Lilly in particular has been prolific, posting stories, poems, photos and art on a site that shall remain nameless. One of her poems that appeared there awhile back seemed especially appropriate as she caught up with her mother and me in Prague on Thursday. Here it is:
To the tired wanderer
If you haven’t found a home yet,
It doesn’t matter if it’s been ten days or ten years.
Sometimes home is just that rock by that one river in Indiana
Where you sat and watched the sunrise after the long and awful night
When your wallet was stolen and your boots finally wore through
From all the rain and the mud and the burrs that wouldn’t leave you alone.
Sometimes you will feel like there’s a weight
Attached to the back of your tongue,
Dragging down into your throat
And choking all of the words you might have said
(or might not have, anyway).
We all need to leave sometimes.
It’s all in how you move forward.
Do you buy new boots and break them in,
Accept the blisters and stretch out the leather,
Until it seems like you never stopped at all;
Or will you trudge on bare foot
Because the dust is in your blood
And the ground belongs to your sole?
Or maybe stop and stay for while, rest for a while,
settle down for a while,
Shake the road out of your hair
And turn your head from the vast horizon that stretches before you—
There will always be places you’ve never seen—
And remember that just because you’ve stopped
doesn’t have to mean you’re done.
The movement is in your soul, wanderer, whisperer,
Little firework, little not-my-own,
You belong to the movement of the world:
Someone should have told you
That the world will go on without you.