{Originally Published on Doobleh-Vay}

I dream of riding the Orient Express

for two nights in a row now

I am in a bright cabin with paper and pencils

and very Bohemian in an authentic way

like the way I used to wrap scarves around my head in college

and head out to the bar for a drink

when it was not even chic- just odd

scarves that my Kurdish friend would give me

and how they were so bright turquoise

that I stood out from miles away

like a beacon to other strange girls

blinking and calling out

be the person yr supposed to be

and later you will be fine with it

I am on a journey and at some point in the dream I freeze frame for a second and hit some sort of intense epiphany- only I wake up right as I feel the hairs on my body stand and stir

it was like that yesterday too

only I was walking in the heat of the day down the street here with the boys and we were headed to the creek

finn was jabbering away with so many questions that I thought my head might explode

only it didn’t and I just gave in and started answering the questions

and as we walked the crickets were loud against the landscape of suburbia

and I came right to a place that at the same exact moment long rivers of sweat were snaking down my back and pooling into my underwear I knew this was one of those days

where I was the queen of all he knew and I had come here

just here to make sure he knew all about the world

and we talked for over an hour about things that might have bored me senseless just the day before but this day they excited me much like the time I was the first person to show him The Mona Lisa or the first rock he ever broke himself against

right as the moment came I was present and able to feel it

everyday as a mother there are moments that stop you

wouldn’t it be lovely if we could save them on some portable device like an ipod or something

take em with us and hit repeat

feel it viscerally

anytime we needed to know we were just fine

that we were here for them

and they were here for us

like a glove

Editor’s pick by Heather A. Goodman at L’Chaim: Amy Turn Sharp is one of our own here at Blog Nosh, so I suppose you could consider this nepotism. But good poetry is good poetry. Amy’s writing catches me perhaps because I love scarves. Or perhaps because she loves to travel. Or perhaps because she loves words. But I think it catches me because she chooses to savor every moment of life as if it is a 1945 Mouton Rothschild. Through her poetry, she invites us into her world, which is swirling, dancing, and glittering on fairy wings. Amy blogs at Doobleh-Vay. Check out the original post and subscribe to her here.