Skipping Winter

the last few years

i’ve skipped winter in the town where i was born

opting instead

for summers in another hemisphere

another home

 

traveling for miles

or kilometres

depending on which you prefer

 

constantly adjusting

the strap of the backpack

across my shoulders

the weight of it

making the nape of my neck

go pink

 

constantly adjusting

to timezones

to new hours where i sleep

and where i wake

to lightened skies

where the sun sets at 10:30PM

or whenever it feels so inclined

 

constantly adjusting

to concepts like jet lag

the bone-tiredness

you get when your body clock

resets

 

slowly

gradually

the way a dripping tap

fills a sink

 

constantly adjusting

to what i can only call

an exhaustion of the heart

 

that comes from leaving behind the person i love

not by choice

but by a web of strange circumstances

that mean i’ll have to immigrate

as soon as i’m able

 

constantly adjusting

to temperatures

to dryness

to humidity

to the feel of the air between my fingertips

to the rain on my eyelashes

 

the only constant

the love i have for her

that pulls me back