A Thousand Miles Nowhere


It didn’t begin well, that journey
of a thousand miles, its first step halting,
the heel dragging, the knees knocking.
The first day was its last, best day.
Oh, maybe the sun shone upon it down
the trail, when that fruit tree bloomed
and its blossom staggered everyone,
not just the lost travelers.

That blossom pushed forth a stunning
hybrid of the best of its strings of life,
twisted gyres of things I cannot spell
nor speak. But I know when they
neatly tie a bow so perfect you don’t
wish to open the present it secures
from prying eyes, yet still entices you
to set it free. Perhaps to see it fly.

I worry about the day when this fruit
unties itself from its tree. Will it
have been cultivated with care to
its potential perfection, not ignored
and grown over-ripe, rotting from
the ignorance of some failed husbandman
who knows only what he thinks he knows?
What he doesn’t know is what he’s missing


3 thoughts on “A Thousand Miles Nowhere

  1. I have studied and taught aging but my experience is so much more intense and nuanced than what the textbooks spoke of. Thanks for capturing what I think about in my quiet hours, and expressing it from a male perspective. I have often wished I could live in a male brain for 24 hours, and you are giving me a glimpse of that landscape.

    • Thanks, Pat.

      I’m afraid the landscape within this male brain probably doesn’t quite resemble your standard male brain. But I’m glad to offer tours of the place every couple of days.

      • Now you have me thinking about what type of male brain I want to have inside my head for a day. After I stop laughing I think I’ll give up that fantasy.

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