The Unclenched Shoulder

I’ve walked through the heat of the East,

Where the noise and the crowds never ceased.

From the neon of Krungthep’s bright glare,

To the dust of the Siem Reap air,

I was always a ghost at the feast.

But here, where the winter is gray,

The shadows have all slunk away.

I can let down my guard for a while,

Walk a cobblestone, rain-slicked mile,

And no one has questions to say.

There’s peace in the scent of the green,

In the cheese and the streets that are clean.

A freedom that’s mental and deep,

While the rest of the world is asleep,

In a harbor that’s quiet and keen.

My shoulders, once heavy and tight,

Have loosened their grip on the night.

For the safety of brick and of stone,

Is a kindness I’ve never quite known,

In the soft, filtered, afternoon light.

One day, there’s a boat on the line,

A hull that is sturdy and mine.

To sail through the wind and the foam,

In a land that I’ve dared to call home,

Where the future and water entwine.

"They say the Dutch are cold, but I think they're just respectful. In the humid chaos of my old life, every stranger wanted a piece of my story. Here, in the damp chill of February, I’ve found the rarest nomad luxury: the right to be left alone in a place where I finally feel safe enough to breathe." ~SunnyJ