Airports, of course. My
Boyfriend had a Cessna—he
Could loop the loop, but Sonny
Died in Dallas. He OD’ed.
Eighteen-wheelers pull right over
For a thumb, or flash of leg.
Greyhound bus is better.
Had to learn the hard way.
I learned though. Drove a
Jeepny in Manila for four months.
Kayaked on the Colorado.
Learned some more.
Motorcycled up to Machu Picchu.
Never crashed but once.
Ohio? Rode straight through it.
Pretty girls can always get a lift.
Qatar was weird. Damned camels spit
Right in your eye. They do. Don’t laugh.
Somewhere else is where I’m headed now.
Trains? Freight trains, love trains, the Eurostar.
Underground in London. Swiped a
Vespa in Milan. Bought a Bentley in Berlin.
What a crazy time I had in
Xanadu. I’ve looped the fucking loop.
Yeah, part of it is lies. The rest is true.
Zoneless, baby, nowhere, that’s my home
About the author
Janice D. Soderling is a wannabe time traveler. There must be a better warp to live in. A previous contributor to Literary Bohemian, she…
Read the full bioIssue 19 · December 2013
Table of contents
- From the editors
- Poetry
- Postcard Prose
More from The Journal
- Postcard Prose
By Kelly Hill
Trying to wrap my mind around living on a tropical island for thirteen years and never once seeing the ocean, I stumbled through my Indonesian vocabulary to say, It’s good. It’s big.
- Travel Notes
By Sandra Larson
A dinosaur dangles over my grandson at the Field Museum near a pink thumb that pops into the prom picture of my granddaughter dressed in strapless red leaving her house in Medina …
- Travel Notes
By Megan Hallinan
The bill in question is actually a 2,000 West African franc note, and it’s the equivalent of about four U.S. dollars. A helpful sum, really, but as I clutch the weathered crinkle in my sweaty palm, its value feels as dirty as the grime that is undoubtedly being transferred to my fingers.
- Poetry
to Egg and Berry brewery, to the pack / of Czechy words I made but didn’t work / in this pink town. I’d readily go back / to your best spots, the unfired gun, that perk //
- Poetry
By Jason Warren
And if the neap tides of my beauty / sadden him, I cannot help it: / I hang high, the waxy night light …
- Poetry
By Anastasia Vassos
Three thousand ancestors ask how I straddle / the sea, a foot on either shore. //
Read more Poetry or Postcard Prose