Wanderers in a Foreign Land
I was a wanderer in a foreign land.
Looking for someone to speak the language of my home.
Traveling the back roads and highways of the heart,
A map in hand, scored with routes and signs that pointed
In a direction I had no sight.
The journey had hills and cutbacks. Detours held me prisoner to my own fears.
There were others along the path, joining me at crossroads and famous tourist sites.
But no one spoke the language of the heart.
There were happy times, adventures!
Discoveries I hadn’t realized gave way to illumination.
I didn’t stumble or go in circles as much,
only to arrive at the same place.
I met you on one of those journeys.
Your face was familiar.
Your words warmed by the afternoon sun.
The foreign landscape seemed to swell with possibilities,
As I looked in your eyes.
We walked a ways,
Each footstep going forward to something new and delicious.
And as strangers in a foreign land, we found our paths together-but not forever.
Reality interrupted us. The journey would come to an end with endless memories of
talks into the night, of laughter at the odd people and places we had seen.
Your path took you elsewhere, and so did mine.
It was a silent resignation. A tearful adieu to all that we had found and knew.
We’d spoken the language of the heart. We had tasted the rich, full drink that still lingered on our tongues.
We had smelled the flowered-filled aroma of something we dared not name.
Years have passed. I’ve found my way. I’ve made peace with the long, but not forgotten scent of you.
No longer a wanderer, I have learned the languages of others, found the anchors that hold me
To this solid space I now call home.
And yet, the tugging of something else;
The strumming guitar, the singing songstress wooed me back to a feeling.
Put me on the path again.
You visited me in a form of a letter. I pressed out the pages carefully, fingers shaking as I read the words.
The feelings flooded over me as melted snow roaring down riverbeds in spring.
We were on that road again, laughing and talking.
A kinship beyond cousins and just shy of lovers.
Spells had been broken, and a life that had pointed us in different directions,
Now called us home.
And you came, stepping back upon the path toward me,
Slightly wrinkled from the years of wear,
But your smile lit up my insides; our hearts beat fast and young again.
No longer strangers, no longer in a foreign land,
We took the time that had been erased and claimed it new,
Upon our hands, upon our feet, upon our eyes of longing.
We claimed our words, our dreams and stitched them into
The language of our heart.
And took the path as One.
By Victoria Yeary
October 12, 2013