PACKING

​A GLIMPSE

A

 glimpse through an interstice caught, 

​O

f a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar

​-

room around the stove late of a winter night, and I unremark

​'​

d seated in a corner,

​O​

f a youth who loves me and who

​m I​

 love, silently approaching and se

​at​

ing himself near, that he may hold me by the hand, 

​A

 long while amid the noises of coming and going, of drinking and 

​oath

 and s

​mutty je​

st, 

​T

here we too, content, happy 

​in 

being together, speaking little, perhaps not a word

​.

- Walt Whitman​

​

If you tell people you aren't involved, you are involved.

If there are people you no longer acknowledge, how do you know who they are?

I am packing hardly anything: a pair of pants, two pair of socks, two underwear, two t-shirts, two shirts, a sweater, a raincoat, a stocking cap, a down vest, a hoodie, a wrap-around ear warmer (that can double as an eye mask on the plane), tiny gloves, a travel guide (or perhaps pages torn from a travel guide), a notebook, a flashlight, a few aspirin, a toothbrush, razor, comb, travel towel.

This is an experiment in owning and carrying little.

My phone.