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Issue 4 • Winter 2002 • Poetry
Krandall Kraus
Christmas
Following the right star is always
tricky. Those journeys often take us places
we find uncomfortable; and frequently we find ourselves
merely exchanging one ignominy for another.
I should give nearly all to turn this animal
around and head for home, were home a place.
Instead, I wander through the night, hoping not
to be left entirely to my own limited resources.
I have been wrong before. Many times.
But a man need be wise but once
to make a reputation. All those mistakes
on the way up, people forget. Those other
trips that went nowhere -- well, they lead
eventually to a practical wisdom. A man
can't travel that much and not learn something:
a custom, a new dish, the virtue
in staying put. But each time one must believe.
One must say, There is an end
to going on. I have said it before;
I say it now, traipsing across this dusty
land, following another lead. I look at it
this way: if I am right this time
I can retire; after all, what's one more
trip? I tell myself, again, this is it.
This is the journey I was meant to take.
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