• James Boccone

And I’ll see the Back of my own Head.

I’ve arrived

in an alternate world.

A place with many possibilities

and great potential for both

danger and new joy.

But I am not a stranger to this land

or to myself.


I look down at my feet.

I have traveled on

similar stones before.

The foliage here

is not entirely foreign.


Like water taking

the path of least resistance,

my feet start walking

as soon as I arrived.

They drag the rest of my body along

before I even get a chance to think.

Shameful, predictable procedure.


I know the comfort

of the sun against my face

will feel nice.

The river water

will be refreshing.


But I know I’ll wander.

I’ll get lost and wind up

somewhere unpleasant.

Cut my feet on

sharp volcanic glass

and tell no one.

Maybe twist my ankle

while gazing up at

distant worlds in the night sky.

And I know that at the end of the trail,

after I’ve endured the punishment

of my wandering feet,

I’ll recognize where I stand yet again.

I’ll squint my eyes

and look far

into the distance ahead of me.


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