but I never see him with dirt on his lips. -Jim Daniels
On my lunch break, the guys from work
ask if I'll join them tonight for
drinks at the bar.
I shake my head, tell them you're flying in this evening.
After work, I get in my blue Accord.
I head West on the 16.
I take the ticket, wait for the gate to lift.
I walk to baggage claim. I circle the carousels
looking for a brown duffle bag with bright green fabric
tied in a knot to the long tan strap. Your only
identifiable feature.
At night I fall asleep and imagine you
in sandals.
I see you walking where He walked,
on a flat escalator
in the Atarot Airport, looking for gate B23.
In the mornings, when I make love to my wife,
I see you lying where she lies.
The sun breaking through the crack in the red curtains.
A tiny sliver of light covering her bare stomach.
But I know you're in Helsinki, in a hotel room on the 8th floor.
It is the middle of the night there. The lights are turned off,
your hands gripping tightly, your lips
pressing gently against the stubble of his chin,
As he rubs his fingertips up and down
the tiny sliver of light covering your bare stomach.
On my way to work I see you stepping into a cab
in Edinburgh, heading for the airport. To catch an early flight.
To layover in London. To see the clock tower from 4,200 feet.
I see you taking long strides down a steel corridor
filled with musty air.
As you wrap your arms around my waist,
I thrust my head into your chest and
listen to the slow beating of your heart.
I try to smell it on you,
the unknown place that somehow called you back to me.
You casually ask how I've been.
What can I possibly say to someone who travels
religiously like you?
The only thing I think to ask is if
you are coming or going.
Your half smile tells me it is neither.
Or is it both?
1 comment:
So considering that you are not a pilot/flight attendant, or one who flies a lot, it is amazing how well this poem turned out.
I think it does an amazing job of communicating the feeling of longing for something, i think that this plays out really well as you mention the different places, they are all so distant. I feel like that distance adds to the tension. I also appreciate how you show through situations how the guy is feeling rather than saying it.
I was a little confused with the "He" reference. the second time i read it i thought it might be a theological reference, so i googled aratot and saw that it's a airport in jerusalem . . . except it's Atarot. Actually the first link on google for aratot is your poem. hee hee.
A also like these lines "The sun breaking through the crack in the red curtains. - A tiny sliver of light covering her bare stomach." and then when you use it the second time it creates a feeling of a totally different kind of light. I imagine it as a blue or silver from the Helsinki moon, but i don't know, maybe add some kind of color here too so it reflects the first one.
So awesome, and WELL worth the wait!
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