Reed Venrick lives on his orange grove farm in Central Florida; formerly studied at the University for Foreigners in Perugia, Italy.
The restless traveler, fated to wander,
Suspects she was not born in some staid
Hospital, nor saw first light in some
Boring, name-less city, as stated
In writing on her birth certificate.
No, more likely, was conceived on
Holiday on one of her parent’s early
Erotic journeys; or perhaps delivered
In hearing of an airport and flying jet,
Or the foghorn of a departing ship;
Maybe her creation even began
On a ferris wheel at a county fair,
Given that a restless traveler revels
To be in motion—constant motion,
Even revolving motion, if, and even
If, that motion is hiking along
“la playa de Malaga, Espana,”
Or just tracing a waxing moon with her
Finger. Maybe the restless traveler
Was created on a sailboat under
The cover of a canvas sail or inside
A lifeboat on a cruise ship in “Cinque
Terre,” under moonlight, or even come-
To-life aesthetically dreaming, under
The spring rain of lemon and orange
Blossoms on the sloping edge the coast
Of “Italia,” where the water swirls and
Flowers, since the igniting forces inside
Her mind and body churn so much
That her burning drive to roam must
Derive from some mystical place, even
alien place, inarticulately called
The unconscious, which hardly explains
Why she is more mobile than a planted
Palm, ever rooted in salty sand. Still,
The beloved mother of the restless
Traveling girl denies—strongly denies—
With a nervous laugh, that any shenanigans
Happened with her and dad inside fast
Cars or love hotels in foreign towns, or
merry-go-rounds in those nine months
Before her daughter, fated to wander, opened
Eyes to light that shone not just from ports,
International,, but from other planets, other
Spheres—from other rainbows in the universe.
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Poetry in this post: © Reed Venrick
Published with the permission of Reed Venrick