Dear Passenger,
You told me that as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Thailand I wouldn't have time to do the things that I liked. You told me that I certainly wouldn't have time to write. So. Here's something that I wrote (obviously not about you though):
I dreamed of you last night,
traipsed directionless, lost
in the ninety-degree winter
of a banana leaf jungle. Sweat drowned
my brow as our torrid star demanded
attention, sapped strength from pores
under my skin.
I carried a small bag of chili peppers, freshly foraged
from nearby fields, crimson and fiery
yet still not furious as the heat that boiled
the air around me.
I dreamed you found me.
Through a vacant lane in the palm forest
I descried your silhouette.
An unknowable distance separated us, but I felt you
like a faraway spring taunting me with
promised relief from this unflinching scorch.
Through the rippling heat I pictured
the sprinkled freckles that dot your cheeks, remembered the way your smile crinkles
the corners of your viridian eyes.
From miles away I dreamed your whisper.
come back
Your coo, soft and sweet on the nape
of my neck; cool breath momentarily liberating me
from the unforgiving flame in the sky.
come back to me you said.
So I leapt into the sun.
Sincerely,
Ian Tramm
PCV 131