ISSUE NO. 2 • Are we there yet?

I chose to write this piece because I want to remember individuals who have not had the opportunity to travel as I have.

Hunting for Christmas decorations in a cramped loft, I lifted a jade

top off a crimson container. Hidden beneath period piece photos

and flaxen and snow yarn I spotted a tattered postcard of Tuscany.

On the back was your script:

One day I’ll go.

Instead days consumed of cooking cutlets, pretending to love

a man, constantly craving another calling. You’d dream

of just writing a check

One day I’ll go.

You never were able to taste real Italian wine,

gaze out at mountains capped with snow dust

have fingertips graze stone of ancient castles.

I vow now that

One day I’ll go.