Everywhere I go there’s a
volcano waiting to greet me.
We bounced out of our seats,
rain pouring down on the drive
to fiery, silent Arenal. We leaned out of
our seats on the flight to San José,
trying to get clearer glimpses of
Concepción and Maderas, floating
in the waters of Nicaragua.
But my favorite volcano and I
prefer just to sit with each other.
The only journey I take is inward.
As I meditate, the clouds break
away from Popocatepetl.
We watch each other, like two
women exchanging a glance,
a knowing look that says, we know
how hard this life can be.
And when the sun sets and my
meditation ends, Popo wraps herself
in a blanket of clouds, disappearing
into the darkness. Another day of
our journey is complete.
(OctPoWriMo 31: Journey. Not a great poem, but I finished OctPo!)