fellow travelers
by Oscar Guerrero

i knew you once
fellow traveler
you waved as you pushed off into the sea
gentle waves cradled you into
a dawning sun
the wind let me know of your exploits
i heard of the friends you made
the partners you danced with
the ship that capsized
the port where you almost married
those who betrayed you
those who caressed you
i traveled by train to see you again
to drink to your glory and mine
sand had beat gutters of time
laced around your eyes
and you looked at me
as i held your hand and counted scars,
balking at my mustache
we showed each other proof
of our own existence
lives discarded, dispatched, dissolved
a body transformed, a soul intact
and so we knew each other again
i bid you farewell
fellow traveler
i have my own journey to seize
and i’m setting off to sail tomorrow
i’ll remember you in your doorframe
arm wrapped around a milk glass
and you’ll remember me at my best
i’ll root for your homestead
while i embark to new shores
please write to me
give me proof of your own existence
and i will give you mine
and so we sail on
fellow travelers
crossing distances and divides
breaching depths
carving wakes
marking time through our encounters
we sail past waves of mirth and sorrow
on through monsters and storms
may our hearts roam
meeting again in distant harbors
or in the land of our birth
guided by careful currents
About the Author
Oscar Guerrero (he/they) is a Cultural Studies M.A. student, a brother, a son, a best friend, an artist, a writer, a cartoonist, a romantic little fool, a runner, a walker, a shower singer, an archivist, a curator, a worrier, a rehabilitating perfectionist, and sometimes a poet.