The Traveler
The Traveler
Though my hands are busy with washing pans
My soul is away from home.
It travels the breadth of foreign lands
where life’s busy highways roam.
Though my hands are busy with needle and thread
And a mending basket high,
or floured skin fragrant from making bread,
my soul is not nearby.
Though my hands are busy with brush and broom
and fitting things in their place,
or aching and faded from dusting a room,
my soul soars out to space.
My hands are busy with a myriad of things
in the routine tasks of my day,
but thoughts deck my soul with gossamer wings
and send it darting away.
I will guess you have touched on a universal dream of many women – to be at home, taking care of things and people, but dreaming of travels and adventures…My mom had pasted a landscape above the kitchen sink so she could dream of being somewhere else, instead of doing dishes…you’ve touched on a longing I have felt, and I am sure others have as well…
kvwordsmith
June 22, 2008 at 12:13 am
This poem is very moving and touching. So many beautiful lines — but my fav is “thoughts deck my soul with gossamer wings”. Breathtaking!
espirit07
June 22, 2008 at 1:53 pm
I like this. It says that we do not have to be asleep to dream…that we can be anywhere we want to be just by turning on the imagination, and it sure helps when one is doing the ironing.
Vi
woodnymph
June 22, 2008 at 2:35 pm
i like the idea of walking in the world of domesticity but being in a realm of sacred and dreams (: enchanting to read.
pearlz
June 23, 2008 at 8:08 am
What I love most about Lemuria is that it is a place for my soul to travel to, especially when I am doing the more mundane things of daily life.
Heather Blakey
June 25, 2008 at 12:30 am
A lovely poem. Isn’t it wonderful to be in two places at once?
porchsitter
June 25, 2008 at 1:00 pm