Sometimes They Call It Wanderlust
I am imagining myself away again,
imagining a me in new locations,
filling spaces I can’t satisfy myself.
New views will fix all wounds
a house on the Pacific, an apartment in Madrid.
I traveled there once, thought it would
heal something in me. It didn’t.
Only left me wanting more, the way
fickle lovers do.
This is not to say I’m unhappy.
No. But restless? Restless.
Like a sunset of leaves falling from trees in New England
swept away by the wind wherever
the breeze takes me. I am home
here, but I am imagining myself away again
looking for a place to fill me.
Grace Moore is a writer of poetry, fiction, and nonfiction. Her interests include travel, reading, and doing any activity that involves supplies from the craft store. She lives in Washington with her husband, where they can often be found discussing Doctor Who in-depth. She’s passionate about helping writers find their motivation and unlock their creativity. Follow her on Instagram, sign up for her newsletter, and support her on Ko-fi.