A poem for two wandering women

That's me

nose pressed hard against the window glass
breath mist on the window as the train whirs by you

That's me

our heads turn, our eyes meet and I follow you out of sight

That's me

clutching a tattered phrasebook
stashing consonants in unexpected places
a strange new colloquy in words and hands

That's me

harbouring all the places I've walked,
every story I've met pressed flat against my heart

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I'm not sure I haven't met a kindred spirit today! Another wandering woman, A Wandering Woman Writes about Her World, a Kiwi in Antwerp. Check out her first post, written last July.

It's the title of her blog that blew me away:

"People become stories and stories become understanding."

I can't know how you read your title, fellow w-w, but it gave me the courage to post the poem above, a poem about my first wanderings, the solo trips that made a wanderer out of me. I am eager to read more of your blog!