For three and a half hours,
the man in 25 D and I
sit beside each other
and do not speak.
Somewhere, I like to imagine,
is a woman who wishes
that it were she
who got to be the woman
sitting in 25 E. I wonder
what she is doing right now,
perhaps twirling a strand
of her hair and remembering
the way his voice warms
when he says her name.
It occurs to me
that in every seat is a human
who loves and who wants
to be loved. A plane
of lovers, we are,
all of us politely minding
our elbows, traveling
with our seatbelts low
and tight across our laps.
And though we’ve never
met before and will likely
never meet again, and though
we may not even speak
to each other as we fly, just
think of it, all that love
traveling across the country
through a turbulent sky.
Great poem.
Refreshing perspective on what I’ve long deemed “cramped” conditions – I’ll keep this in mind on next flight … Thanks!
🙂 Well, it will still be cramped, but
Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer http://www.wordwoman.com tel. 970-728-0399
From: “comment-reply@wordpress.com” Reply-To: Date: Saturday, November 28, 2015 at 10:02 AM To: Rosemerry Trommer Subject: [A Hundred Falling Veils] Comment: “United”
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interesting thoughts…unusual poem
The holiday travel poem of the season. I like the way it starts with all the silence and seems like it will turn toward some kind of regret, but not at all. It lifts the reader by the end, and perhaps the plane as well.