A couple of nights ago, my dear roommate Jessica and I went to a poetry reading at the True Aggie Cafe. Whenever we go to these readings, I'm always briefly inspired to share something I've written with someone. This feeling usually goes away when I realize how frightening the prospect is. But tonight, I figured, my blog would be a good place to start.
I got the idea for this poem in a hotel in Midway. I was on a trip with my dear friends, Delanie Candace and Melissa, in a fancy resort. Of course there was a pad of hotel paper on the desk in our room. I decided it would be nifty to write a poem about traveling on the fancy paper, which claimed to be "printed with soy ink" and holds the inviting phrase "thoughts, meet paper." I took a piece of the paper home and wrote this poem on it. The poem is named after the hotel. I found out later that Zermatt actually means "on the flat." I wish I had found out that it meant something much more poetic or related to the theme, but what can you do.
Zermatt
In hope of shedding our
usual skin, we leave again
and again.
We ride up and down gold
elevators, shuffle through
airports, and drive over
bridges under a few stars.
Everywhere, someone will
ask, "Where are you from?"
as if this were easily answered.
At night in a hotel, I dream
of trying to fit together
a puzzle of a map,
my sleeping self still
catching up to where
we really are.
In hope of shedding our
usual skin, we leave again
and again.
We ride up and down gold
elevators, shuffle through
airports, and drive over
bridges under a few stars.
Everywhere, someone will
ask, "Where are you from?"
as if this were easily answered.
At night in a hotel, I dream
of trying to fit together
a puzzle of a map,
my sleeping self still
catching up to where
we really are.
