I ripped this poem out of the Sept\/Oct 1993 issue of Ms. magazine, a jagged-edged heavyweight linen-feeling page with a black and white photograph of a woman facing away, her long hair blowing in the wind. Above her is a tall sky filled with white and fluffy, but somehow oppressive, cumulus clouds. Ahead of her is the twisty slingbacked road along the ridge of a highland, shining in the lowering sun. In the fall of 1993 I felt utterly alone. I wasn’t dating anyone, and I wasn’t in the mood to date anyone. I had been single for a very long time, although I had had some small romances that kept my heart from shriveling completely, but I was convinced that the love of my life was behind me. I had a job I loved, an apartment of my own that I loved in a city I loved and I figured that despite the disappointments of the romances of the past I would be fine on my own as I headed into my 30th year. Which turned out to be one of the best of my life because 6 months later I met Anders. However, in the meantime, I kept this poem because it was comforting to me in a backhanded sort of way.<\/p>\n
Traveler’s Advisory
\nby Sharon M. Van Sluys<\/b><\/p>\n
Expect the worst.
\nYou will slide an incredible distance
\nbefore you stop.
\nMuch may be damaged.
\nSmall bones break easily
\nand heal untrue.<\/p>\n
Anticipate corners and snaking ways. Brake.
\nIt is the force, the physics, of such shapes
\nthat do not allow guessing, heroics,
\nor turning back.<\/p>\n
Do not rely upon landmarks. Surely
\nthey will vanish in the ferocity of what
\nmay occur.<\/p>\n
Whatever happens, do not panic.
\nIf you do not arrive,
\nkeep your hands in your pockets, the tips
\nof your ears covered,
\nyour heart bundled.
\nDo not sleep.
\nDo not allow yourself to be buried
\nin the howling
\nof what might have been.<\/p>\n
***<\/p>\n