Janet Simister
April 07, 2008

Journey to Paraguay


A bundle of your belonging—luggage that will seem to float besides you.
The currency will change, and change again.
As you long for the name of a friend you know to take you in.
You will float among Sargasso leaves—that brings back memories of those expatriates that were long gone. An angry wave splash at the side of your boat—a sudden washout, and you cup your hands to your mouth—with a wet and worshipful tongue.
One day you live in America—life with me, you said was bitter, fill with grief—you will go now, marry a woman who knows no English.
And as you get off that boat, in Paraguay—you will be a passerby—like a beggar, holding your diminishing memories in a place, where you would be anything other than American.
Distance between—a tissue of smoke; may dark cloud hover above your head—as you find your way into the flesh of an enemy—in Paraguay…the place where you will be for many years.
You will vanish and you will never look back.
But, your weary soul—will not survive such memories of my photograph. Now you will live in a place where you live off bribery—as you endure the boring ritual of tea—remember the days when you ordered me around—to bring you coffee.
So, now is the time I will put ten more years behind us.
Adios, mi amigo—goodbye my friend. I hope your journey to Paraguay will never end.