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On the Ground and Through the Clouds
On this side of Security Not wanting to go further, I sat on a bench and sent a text On my cell. The weather Was unspeakable, rain In great efforts. You texted Back, "Have a safe trip home." But to fly home was not possible. You should have known that The plane would be delayed And there no longer was a home For me to speak of, certainly Not my dogless rooms On Howard Street.
I could not bring myself to drag My suitcase across the polished Floor to check in, wait in line, Take off my jacket, belt, and shoes And show my ticket and license. You should have known that To board the flight home Meant starting again the engine Of longing, the wheels and gauges, Mixed and missed signals, the calibration Of last night's quarrel, our hungover Words, the jet fuel of lost time, And the vague memory of six Bison heads gazing through The hotel room window From the facade across the street.
I dialed a friend who said, "Go Board your flight," and I did What he said and the things I said I would not do, walked through The airport to my plane And its unlikely on-time departure, Its rising through the black and white Of the rained-on city, and I tried not to Picture where you live with your boyfriend, The one-room apartment, the cats, the posters, The drum kit in the corner, his side Of the futon, your black bra on the high hat.
Stuart Dischell
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:hi:
RL
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