By Jeremy C. North
This evening, intrepid plans are forged.
A familiar tune of starry-eyed wanderlust
that emanates from share flat windows.
Darts pierce the wrinkled flesh of a map,
red wine spattering around old photographs.
Stories are exchanged—of those who leave.
Of ones who set forth on grand holidays,
feeding such worldly minds with the globe.
Laughter rises, for it will be theirs, too.
Each bite of Camembert tastes off to him,
a touch too bitter. His argyle sweater simmers,
luring stress to his body, into his thoughts.
The world had carried the boy once before,
when land was but a distant dream, left behind,
and the ocean, a newly-inherited guardian.
Not a child he was, but a thimble of the sea’s,
careening endlessly past hushed, huddled bodies.
The inside of a drawer, lost inside of a storm.
Air ate the food, and food breathed the air
till his sister, who wore darkness for too long,
had darkness bestow upon her its clothing.
An apartment door shuts to an emptied room
and empty plans. He is scarcely disappointed,
for his world has been calm for many years.