Oars in the Water

You have returned to the place you were formed
and it is a strange land,
yours and no longer yours.

Only the landscape of memories is familiar,
and you realize how comfortable you have become
in the company of strangers,

always traveling, living your life
in churches, coffee shops and cafes
watching, listening

to the stories of the uninvited,
the new, the lost, and most of all,
those who hunger for more than food.

There was a time such travel intimidated you,
but no longer. You have learned
the world can explode around you

and there is always solid ground on which you can stand,
a connecting point between you and God,
and it is not some ethereal place

as much as it is the stories of the real.
Real pain. Real fear. Real love and loss,
madness and hope.

And so you launch out once again.
You put your oars in the water,
unable to see the other side,

but certain
it is there.

About this poem

A few facts that led to this poem:

• I moved to Vermont six and a half years ago. I had no idea at the time that it would become more home than my home of fifty-four years, Virginia. I am reminded of this every time I go back to Virginia.
• I spend an inordinate amount of time in coffee shops when I travel. They have coffee to keep me awake, internet to keep me connected, and strangely, no matter where I am, I meet people. Sometimes I have the most extraordinary conversations.
• Sometimes I think I live my entire life doing things that keep me just outside my comfort zone. I am not sure if that is good or bad, but somehow it generally works out.
• The picture was taken in Cornwall, England.

Tom