search instagram arrow-down


best of HDtS editor's notes fiction interviews nonfiction poetry reviews

Archives by date

Archives by theme

Perhaps the climb up Old Rag, not far from me,
or past the gate to Mr. Nuckols’s property to see
this year’s calves before the males are hauled off
to slaughter. I could walk the Camino de Santiago
at my own pace, nodding to others on the way

or climb Kilimanjaro. How about a ticket to Mars,
one-way? I’d like to see Down House, take a loop
on his Sandwalk, most doable with my bad leg.
The Galapagos calls, though travel is too arduous,
exhausts me from where I sit in my window seat.

An interior pilgrimage might suffice, a trek to remote
corners where memories are still preserved: scent
of chlorine in my Florida pool, its cool blue morning,
cooing mourning doves perched on wires. I can
back up to my childhood bedroom with my sister

so near I can pat her arm. My parents’ voices beyond
the thin wall. A pilgrimage to Brooklyn, my friends
across the street, I walk again to Shellbank Junior
High School with Maureen, Linda, and Mally. We
wait for Gavrielle, innocent of what’s ahead.


Joan Mazza worked as a medical microbiologist, psychotherapist, and taught workshops nationally on dreams and nightmares. She is the author of six books, including Dreaming Your Real Self (Penguin/Putnam), and her work has appeared in The MacGuffin, Valparaiso Poetry Review, Prairie Schooner, and The Nation. She is retired and self-isolates in rural central Virginia, where she writes a poem every day.

© 2020, Joan Mazza

Leave a Reply
Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: