Bird Looking One Way, Then Another

This entry is part 45 of 92 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Spring 2011

At an airport many years ago, as people rushed
toward their connections, so bent on where
they needed to go, so sure of what they were
leaving behind— What was it I glimpsed through
the sliding doors? Indecisive figure on the sidewalk,
head tilted one way, body tilted the other: bird
listening for the coming of rain the same way
I feel the tug, mid-morning, of bell-like tones
that filter through the screen, warning of weather
even as the sun pours through and through.

 

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

Series Navigation← Interior Landscape, with Roman Shades and LoversGypsy Heart →

2 Comments


  1. Oh, this is very complicated! But I like it, partly because I always feel so unreal in airports, and so baffled by the confidence everyone seems to have that the rest of the world is still there, that they’ll find it just as they left it.

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  2. Indecisive figure on the sidewalk,/head tilted one way, body tilted the other: bird/listening for the coming of rain the same way
    I feel the tug,…warning of weather/even as the sun pours through and through.

    OF CLEAN AIRPORTS AND DAMP KERCHIEFS

    When the final call was made
    for you to board the last plane
    to places unknown, unexplained,
    I remained at the gate hoping
    you would look back, smile, too,
    and come running back for the
    kerchief you left on the bench.
    You would need it to blow your
    nose and maybe dry your eyes.
    But you wrote me years later
    that I did not even look at your
    direction, my head tilted away,
    or I could have seen your pleading
    arms gripping those of my tittering
    children, wildly agog by a maiden
    journey on a real plane–so much
    grander than the paper ones I
    made them when the last story
    was simply not enough to lull them
    to a slumber that I am sure would
    find them flying through clouds and
    the searing sun, and the sparrows,
    and the cherubims that guarded
    them jealously like you must have,
    before the final cut that came,
    and cut cleanly. I did not want to say
    goodbye. I looked at the airport
    clock. I wanted desperately to say
    Come back, come home. Come home!
    You were no longer looking, the line
    was moving, and I could no longer see
    anyone of you through my tears.
    Airports are freightening that way.

    —Albert B. Casuga
    04-04-11

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