GYPSY SONG

A couple of times a year I hear this gypsy call to go, do, run, move, make any kind of change that contests and secedes the normal mode. I feel a screaming inside me to go. I have always felt this urge, even as a young child in 2nd grade I spoke of grande plans to travel everywhere in the world when I grew up. I couldn't wait. Oddly, my life is nothing like this, instead, I am home most of the time taking care of others or getting well or working my butt off to stay well. I recently realized I often live in my mind in other places or spaces concurrent with my "real" life to satisfy my gypsy blood. You know that's usually not enough, so I begin making other changes in my life that I actually can undertake, self-improvement, re-decorating, re-do my hair, re-do this, re-create that. Create art with clay. Give me anything to move me beyond the normal daily living, the cries of negativity and political protests....give me free love and a world without boundaries.

Amazingly, I've survived the angst of the gypsy call every time. This winter was incredibly long in Colorado with the large amount of snow, high winds, and overcast days; I barely made it through. Now that I have, my gypsy is singing a loud song and getting louder everyday. What will I do to appease her singing? How will I pay her wage? I'm waiting in anticipation to feel her heart swell with fulfillment.

THE END OF THE ROAD

As you travel and I stay
I watch and wonder how I manage to let you go at all
I would rather be the leaver than the one left
Send me a memory
Send me your love

I’m lonely here tonight in the silence
No memory, no love
Your heart is too out of reach even for this passionate one
I ache for you one thousand miles away
I’m tired of being alone and in love with a traveler
I’m disquieted by my own heart, swelled in lust and desperation

I could hold onto your jacket as you head out the door
Next time
I could beg, beg you to stay
Traveling lover, you would still leave
Less of me would be here, left
Less of me is left

Cease holding me, leave me be
Loving myself less and less for staying
My soul steps me toward the door
Preserving what's left
I leave.

-Victoria Hart