I MOVE, THERFORE, I AM

 

I MOVE, THEREFORE, I AM

By Phillip Elton Collins

What makes Patricia go I ask,

I who travelled 500,000 miles a year for thirty years?

Aghast.

When neither non- stopping pandemic viruses rage on, surgery, radiation, a be-booted foot nor hungry hound at home keeps her at bay.

Is it a travel-tape worm deep within her psyche that can only be fed by movement?

Is it that blank canvas awaiting her brush, or dust upon a high mounted sculpture that pushes her away?

Is it the grandchild’s grin, awaiting her return or the son who drops her off at the airport, at last.

Or is it the lust for life that keeps her on the go; a gypsy gene, at best?

Like the hummingbird abreast, when she does land, we experience her at best, at rest.

Upon her tomb we shall inscribe: “Here lives a gal who liked to go, who has already gone.”