A Walk Around the World
by Sofi Güven
I will walk away.
I am walking away.
But what if, when I walk
away, I walk around
the whole world
and I come towards you
again. What if
I’m different? What if
I’ve walked around
the whole world and
seen quite a bit,
and missed you in
many different places,
like my cousin’s garden in Istanbul
and my old Dublin flat,
untouched by you til now
What if, while I’m walking around the
whole world, I think a lot, so
I can answer your questions and I can
make the promises you need
me to make. What if I bring you
a Turkish breakfast–white cheese
and olives and haloes of simit, and I
show you how to drink a tiny cup of
orta kahve without choking on the grit
What if I lead you down the Phoenix
park trail into rare Irish light,
and show you the herds and herds of
lazy deer, crowned with enormous antlers
like tree limbs, arched towards the sky–
Except,
What if I walk away,
and I walk around
the world, and I remember these lonely,
beautiful places, the sounds of change:
a soaring call to prayer, cellos
on Grafton street, and I think about
all the times I’ve had to fix my life
myself,
and succeeded.
What if I walk away,
around the world,
and it still hurts to miss you,
but I remember all the other pain I thought
was unbearable
until I realized it couldn’t be.
because there I was, bearing it.