[sharing poetry] when to open or shut your eyes, / when to be blind and when to see;

[mlina]

Boundaries
Ian Chung

For ten hours we chew up asphalt,
Spitting out gravel in our wake,
Shaking dust off wheels. Unsettling,
To realise that some borders
Are not discontinuities
Anywhere other than the mind.
Fall asleep in France. Now wake up
To find yourself in Switzerland,
German road signs the only proof
That you have swapped jurisdictions
In your sleep. These are lines we can
Cross willingly unwittingly,
A simple matter of choosing
When to open or shut your eyes,
When to be blind and when to see.

I was awake at the border.
It was earlier, when I woke
To find that your head had fallen
On my shoulder, I pretended
To still be asleep, not wanting
To rouse you, simply because you,
A near stranger, in that moment
Reminded me of far-flung friends
I love dearer for their distance.
Yet you still woke up anyway,
Jerking back the way strangers do
When they touch you by accident,
Thus proving that some barriers
Are harder to breach than others.
We stay awake for two hours more.

I get sick on long trips on a bus, but I'd endure it if it meant motion and movement and stepping out of a sky blocked by skyscrapers for the yawning blue curving overhead and the dark with a million stars not drowned out by city lights.

I miss road trips. One day. One day.

Good morning, everyone ♥