School In A New Country

Freely I step
into the cadence of a new life.
The repeating rhythm,
the daily dance.

New faces.
Stories traded and collected like souvenirs:
"My name is ..."
"I'm from ..."
"I'm going ..."
Questions and answers tinged with anticipation,
with a bit of nervousness colored with excitement.
Here I am: vulnerable.
A stranger.
Yet people are people everywhere,
so I learn the culture, laugh at mistakes,
and live.

Someday I may try to paddle to the past,
yet for now I live in the moment
and dream openly of the future.
Like Gatsby's glittering parties,
I can wait for an invitation
or else make my way towards the light.
Always hopeful,
buoyed with expectations,
Some lovely, some careworn:
Like postcards full of promise,
parts of which each traveler has themselves written,
they urge me onward
to a time (I pray for now as for the future) when I can surely be my best self.

The future is marvelous, isn't it?
Since we were children we've imagined being grown-up.
We haven't stopped:
From a picket fence to world peace
we plot and plan and dream.
We choose paths in great leaps or wandering steps.
Looking back and knowing  exactly how we came,
or curiously retracing the way in our minds,
searching our pockets for mementos and clues
(oh what to keep, and what to lose).

The music plays.
We pick the tune that will guide us along.
All falling forward,
flying on faith.