<\/p>\n
Foreign alcohol\u2014to bring something new and novel back to old friends\u2014so they can taste the transitory experiences your words fail to repaint.<\/p>\n
Clothes\u2014each hole a bit of wear-and-tear that proves it was not a distant dream. It was real. You were a part of it. The smell of highland smoke, the ocean, guacamole, the perfume of a fleeting romance\u2014still lingering in the fibers.<\/p>\n
Crafts from the market\u2014great ideas at the time, when you bargained for them with foreign currency. You\u2019ll hang some on your wall and wonder at some, \u201cWhy the hell did I buy this?\u201d Imagine one day showing them to your growing kids, hopeful to inspire them to see the world as you saw it\u2014attainable, your own, open and available. <\/p>\n
Postcards\u2014the ones you forgot to send, now lost to the trip\u2019s end.<\/p>\n
Machete\u2014the one you\u2019ll treasure, but never wield like a local.<\/p>\n
Things made of glass\u2014the ones that will arrive in worthless pieces.<\/p>\n
Insect eggs\u2014that will hatch, pioneers in a new world\u2014travelers like you, colonizers, foreign invaders who will conquer and upset nature\u2019s careful balance.<\/p>\n
Train tickets, receipts, bus stubs\u2014garbage\u2014but not to you, who used them to float from this to that, here to there.<\/p>\n
Cuban cigars\u2014valuable for political reasons.<\/p>\n
Hammocks\u2014where will you hang it in your urban apartment?<\/p>\n
Indigenous garbs\u2014realistically, you\u2019ll never wear them in public.<\/p>\n
Not just a polo\u2014the polo you wore to Angkor Wat.<\/p>\n
Not just jeans\u2014jeans that hiked Pacaya.<\/p>\n
Not just shoes\u2014shoes that stood atop Machu Pichu.<\/p>\n
Not just a guitar\u2014a guitar still filled with grains of sand\u2014still smelling of the palm fueled fire\u2014where the intoxicated circle sang Wonderwall<\/em> elatedly out of tune as the setting sun burned the horizon.<\/p>\n Your bag\u2014just a detail, a means to the rest of the world, that carries everything.<\/p>\n By Luke Armstrong<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n About the Author<\/strong><\/p>\n Luke Maguire Armstrong lives in Guatemala directing the humanitarian aid organization, Nuestros Ahijados. His book of poetry, <\/em>iPoems for the Dolphins to Click Home About (available for sale on Amazon.com<\/em><\/a>) is especially enjoyed by people who “don’t read poetry.” (@lukespartacus<\/a>)<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Foreign alcohol\u2014to bring something new and novel back to old friends\u2014so they can taste the transitory experiences your words fail to repaint. Clothes\u2014each hole a bit of wear-and-tear that proves it was not a distant dream. It was real. You were a part of it. The smell of highland smoke, the ocean, guacamole, the perfume […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":8,"featured_media":7998,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[1],"tags":[1021,31],"yoast_head":"\n