Theories of Time and Space

THIS WEEK: two hours of browsing around IKEA, half-an-hour of buying snacks at a specialty store, nearly an hour of enjoying pho in “the best pho place ever,” and god-knows-how-many hours of walking aimlessly in parts of the city that, up until then, had been unfamiliar to me.

We walked along the spacious walkways by the white bridge. We ate hotdogs while watching the river do what rivers do. We marveled at how luminous the city can be at night.

I am learning to like this place. I wish my friends were here, too.

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Theories of Time and Space
Natasha Trethewey

You can get there from here, though
there’s no going home.

Everywhere you go will be somewhere
you’ve never been. Try this:

head south on Mississippi 49, one—
by—one mile markers ticking off

another minute of your life. Follow this
to its natural conclusion—dead end

at the coast, the pier at Gulfport where
riggings of shrimp boats are loose stitches

in a sky threatening rain. Cross over
the man-made beach, 26 miles of sand

dumped on a mangrove swamp—buried
terrain of the past. Bring only

what you must carry—tome of memory
its random blank pages. On the dock

where you board the boat for Ship Island,
someone will take your picture:

the photograph—who you were—
will be waiting when you return

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Poem from poets.org. Featured image taken using my phone.