(Won-der-luhst)
Noun.
A strong, innate desire,
to travel or rove about.
Your grandmother started it all.
Tell your parents to blame her.
She gave you that tea set.
You know the one;
silver pitcher, sugar, and creamer,
highly impractical for a 9 month old.
She pulled out the tins
where the tea was kept
and let you choose your flavor
but then poured apple juice
into your cup anyways.
You learned that tea didn’t come
from just any old farm.
It was grown high
in the mountains of Tibet,
or gardens in India.
India. Tibet.
Those far off places with foreign names
would capture your fantasies for years to come.
You spent your childhood
wearing your father’s work shirts,
belted with scarves
and your mother’s pearls looped thrice
around your neck,
her shiny pumps on your feet.
You sat around the table
with all of your bears
and your dolls,
hosting the most elegant
of tea parties,
with a British accent.
When high school came
you took French.
You spoke it,
ate, it,
watched it,
read it.
You taught it to your cat,
and he understood.
Then, one day, you went.
It wasn’t easy.
You babysat for almost a year to get there.
But you did it.
Jamaica.
It was like a virus,
spreading through your entire body.
Two years later, France.
Then Prague and Germany,
and back to France.
But it wasn’t enough.
That desire to see the world
through the tint of a traveler
was coursing through your veins.
You were lost to it;
city streets and jungle paths,
tongues that rolled their letters,
languages spoken with hands
and something that made it all foreign.
In college you studied in England
but you couldn’t stay put.
Christmas in London,
New Year’s in Paris,
your birthday in Venice,
Easter in Rome.
When you came home you cried
for the places you hadn’t been.
Noun
An impulse, that can’t be fought,
to explore the world and find
yourself.
