There is a part of me that has always
wandered, a hobo in seven-league boots,
carrying nothing but what I need
on my back and the rest of my baggage
resting uneasy in my head.

I’d like to find you along the way.
Neither of us has ever been quite at home
in our own skin or trapped in the same
walls for long. The stars our ceiling,
for a bit, at least until we settle;
yes, I think that would do. I think
we could make this work, until it didn’t.

It’s not as easy to disappear as it used to be.
The world’s not as vast as in the past.
You can’t hop a boxcar with a bindle,
bundle safely in an abandoned house.
People notice such things, these days.
No one is invisible, as much as we both
might like to pretend we could be.

After days of sleeping rough, I’ll wake
and the open road will know my name,
but not yours, not anymore.
You’ll want something else, a different
direction, horizon, companion, and
to take the decision from your plate
I’ll go before the sun comes up. One
person disappears more easily than two.

Each step a mile, two, five, more;
further from where I’ve been, but not
knowing where I’m going. We go in
different directions and someday might
meet in the middle again, if we walk long
enough. I’ll keep going, if you do.

~  ~  ~

amy-durantAmy Durant lives in New York’s Capital Region and works as the senior web editor for an award-winning daily newspaper. She has most recently been published in Fourth and Sycamore, 3Elements Review, Rose Red Review and as Others. Her book “Out of True” was published in 2012 and she won first place in the 2015 North County Writers Contest for her poem “Sagamore.” You can follow her on Twitter at @lucysfootball.