This Poem
Posted: October 21st, 2014, 9:31 pm
I’m wondering about the woman
in the next seat, what she may think
if I showed her this poem;
after all, we are both in an airplane,
flying over southern Minnesota
me, off to see my oldest son
on Long Island; her, to an island
near Vancouver, one she will arrive
at on a ferry to spend fours days
staring at pelicans decompressing
from her job at Mayo Clinic; at least
this is what she told me earlier
It is so beautiful to fly at night,
the tiny lights of the cities below
like twinkles of snow dust
one might see in far away places
like Prague or Krasnodar
as far away as the woman’s thoughts
are right now, her eyes closed, breath
easy; as far as my eyes can see
out of the little port window
of the airplane in the dark of night
farther than I can shout I Love You
in a foreign language, farther than
the naked eye can see; farther
than it is between the lines
of this poem no one will read
in the next seat, what she may think
if I showed her this poem;
after all, we are both in an airplane,
flying over southern Minnesota
me, off to see my oldest son
on Long Island; her, to an island
near Vancouver, one she will arrive
at on a ferry to spend fours days
staring at pelicans decompressing
from her job at Mayo Clinic; at least
this is what she told me earlier
It is so beautiful to fly at night,
the tiny lights of the cities below
like twinkles of snow dust
one might see in far away places
like Prague or Krasnodar
as far away as the woman’s thoughts
are right now, her eyes closed, breath
easy; as far as my eyes can see
out of the little port window
of the airplane in the dark of night
farther than I can shout I Love You
in a foreign language, farther than
the naked eye can see; farther
than it is between the lines
of this poem no one will read