The 769th Kilometer of the Camino Frances by Molly Hanna
“Buen Camino” from each passerby
filled my ears from charged air
that flew past our heads while
feet pounded cobblestones -
left, right, left, right - feeling
vibrations of bagpipes light me up.
My achy shoulders - butterfly wings -
drew together; tired eyes lifted,
gazing at cathedral spires while
my feet drag, riddled with blisters
that hurt more when I stop trodding
alongside friends whose faces
are fires, consuming the sight
of the finish line before us.
Faces - glassy ponds on bodies -
reflected the summer sun’s rays,
tattoo guns etching eternal memories
into skin. My legs trembled and
my hands - marked with tan triangles -
clutched the backs of friends,
grasping onto sinewy muscles -
all that is left of the past 500 miles.
Our bodies are worn out from
the transformation of walking
and walking and walking.
This thru-hike, this worship,
culminates here but continues
in our lives outside of Spain.