We Should Probably Thank the Long Days Too
a poem about the hard days that help you get there
One Hundred Days of Gratitude. Thirty-one.
Like traveling all-day
and falling asleep as soon as you board a grey train,
from Paris to Amsterdam, to the sound of tinkling glass
and foreign languages with familiar laughs.
And you wake up already
smelling mussels and beer and diamonds and dancing and
good thing, it’s impossible
to waste time on a moving train.
Some days are just for traveling.
So show up and shut your eyes. Maybe try
having a dream — maybe of an old train station from another time
sitting in the middle of the city
smelling of sweet strong beer and Belgian-French-Fries.
Maybe picture it waiting for you
to wake up to
and realize you’re already there.
Maybe the days we spend working with our eyes shut aren’t wasted
despite the mundane and the malaise
maybe they’re just the travel days.
