This entry is part 61 of 93 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Summer 2011


Air flecked with blue and gold and green, one soft
grey strip of cloud against which a plane’s silhouette
moves toward a distant airfield. We’re all going

somewhere, aren’t we? Even if we’re huddled
in these rooms in rows of vinyl chairs, or later
packed three deep in an elevator car ascending

or descending through a windowless shaft.
Who could hear the faint hush of crickets
from inside this womb? Who could hear

the chant of cicadas or the rumbling in
the bowels of the earth? The woman pressed
against the wall has earrings in the shape of

coffee cups. All I can think of is you,
and where you are at this moment. The man
in the blue-and-white seersucker suit

presses buttons for all our floors:
nine, eight, seven, six; five,
four, three, two, one.


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

Series Navigation← Noon PrayerIn the Convent of Perpetual Adoration →

2 Replies to “Acompañamiento”


    It is familiar hallo, a hail-fellow-well-met nod
    we cannot stifle or swallow when we come
    across a paisan aimlessly window-shopping
    at an endless mall: Where are you going?

    A donde vas, mi amor?* Same query, another
    tone, or yet another lilt, if it were not a plea.
    Why is it anyone’s business to ask where
    indeed, anyone is going? Whither blows

    the wind? Am I my brother’s keeper? Like boats,
    we find ourselves sailing without coordinates,
    no grids plotted or shackling charters. Free,
    we are free to walk the planks, on or maybe off.

    Where are we going with all these memories?
    Down, all the way down. We cannot fly back up.

    —Albert B. Casuga

    *Where are you going, my love?

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