A Little Less Young

There are three days left of my latest communications internship.

I’ve always sat in the wrong department, so it’s the Portfolio Management team that

buzzes around my desk.

Today, they are all talking at once, all around me,

their voices interspersed by the gentle classical music that comes in through my earbuds,

which creates an interesting effect:

Dawn by Jean-Yves Thibaudet, overlaid by older

male voices

passionately discussing concepts I don’t understand.

I become briefly melancholic, the music and voices growing quiet. I think about how with every internship,

with every day, I become a little

less

young.

#15 Baggage Limit Exceeded

Before I’m set to leave I realise
There is no space in my suitcases for the friends
and the memories

Everything is so full!
And the luggage is already
overweight (as usual).

I shrug.
I suppose I will have to put them in my heart.

I open myself up
and a quick scan of the organ
to ensure there is ample room, and there is.

I place them next to my family,
next to my old friends,
And wind them up with bubble wrap
To keep them intact for the bumpy ride
Home

This is so convenient!

At the airport, I won’t need to join the “things to declare” line
(Because the most valuable goods are hidden inside.)

No customs fees to pay;
In my heart they will stay.

#11 Someday

There will come a day
When the books and clothes are tucked away,
The boxes sealed, the shutters drawn,
My small apartment
Emptied of song

When you come to help, you’ll say:
‘Doesn’t this room look big!
Without your life inside,
Without your socks and printer and iced tea, inside!
Without the fridge’s hum.’
Our voices will bounce around in echo
Pounding like a tuneless drum—

Whispering: “Thank you for your courage,
Safe travels back to where you are from.”

We knew this was a passing thing
(That’s what happens when you are nomadic)
We also knew that wouldn’t make
‘The End’ seem any less tragic

Come, friends, and sit with me
Wherever we first met:
Class,
Café,
On the stairs,
Or on that rocky bench,
Then tilt your face toward the sun,
Let its heat cradle your head.

Years from now you’ll be reminded of these:
Cypress trees, Mediterranean breeze,
And I’ll think of you—you’ll think of me

I can chart our growth just like a map,
Look!
There we were young and here we are old;
There we were nervous, here we are bold;
Here, we spoke in riddles, in themes,
like love, distance, and fear
In personal musings, in philosophy,
Voices growing louder, more clear

Shoulders were offered, dinners were held,
To help us all get through,
We realized even the bravest souls
Were lost and wanting, too.

I’ll see you all again, someday
Once the wind has blown us
Every which way,

I’ll see you again someday.

MC