This is for the breast-bearing hippies
the wild haired feminists
the child abusers
the free radicals
the cool chasers
the happy artists and the lonely businessmen
this is for the mailwomen
for the factory workers who screw on the tops of toothpaste bottles.
This is for you
for those whose whispers are not heard
for the violent and for the meek
this is for those who stay while everyone else travels
for those who are pretending to be strong
for junior highers on bicycles and for old men in gardens
this is for the late night dishwashing wine sippers
for the new girlfriend
for the lollygaggers
this is for new mothers and dirty diapers
for the average c and for middle c
for the poser and for the hidden
for the free spirit and for the caged bird.
This is for the mustached veterinarian
for the antique junk collector
for the cyclist whose clips won't clip
for the Lutheran pastor with a colorful sash
for the old lady who shares ice cones with her dogs.
This is for girls that drive their own motorcycles
for tree-climbing homeschoolers
for single dads with young children
for tin-can robot makers
for r.v. families
for old couples who sit outside and just hold hands
for angry blonde toddlers
for old women that mow the lawn in American flag bathing suits.
This is for hoodlums with chihuahuas
and for fourteen-year-olds who move out alone because of bipolar mothers
for those who share deep secrets
for those who don't speak to their fathers
for girls that are insecure about their legs
for people that monogram their make-up bags.
This is for the vagabonds and for the wanderers
for dieting mothers
for little girls who wear bathing suits but never swim
for people who don’t want to hold hands
for the toll booth workers and for the times square street preachers.
You have made this journey unforgettable.
You have weaved in and out of my story this summer, which is only made up of me entering and exiting yours. You shared it with me, and for that I am most grateful.
Some for only a glimpse and others I have experienced more deeply.
Some are fleeting moments while others are composed of hours of conversation.
Some are only thoughts while others I have met. You make up the fabric that spans from the far west coast to the east. I am changed and at this point I’m not sure how but I know that I am. I can feel it. Bubbling to the surface the same way water does in a small black pot right before two large eggs are dropped in. It will be a long process unraveling the complexity of this summer. Discovering the changes as they surface, realizing the lessons I have learned along with the things I had to unlearn.
I am always on my way home.
