Travel
At the turn of the year, the holidays tempt us to travel to visit family, or, for those of us in the Interior, to visit the sun. As I prepare to fly south for a week, I’m reflecting on the fragmentary memory of previous flights–images of landscape below, fragments of conversation, faces in crowded airports, the adrenaline of rushing down corridors to make a connection. I remember waking in a plane, puzzling sleepily over the words “White lights lead to red lights”–what could that mean? It seemed profound after 12 hours of flying.
After the flight, the visit, the return, what’s usually left is just the memory of the highlights of the visit, but what about the memory of travel? What we ask of our bodies and psyches–hurtling at high speeds through the atmosphere, dropping briefly into unknown spaces with unknown people–is extraordinary.
Write about the lost moments in airports or on planes; make a collage of impressions and see what it forms into. Post it as a comment and I’ll add it here.
————
Jan 15
A response from Greg Lyons, from his new blog 21st Romantic
Alaska
She falls on her knees to help him
smash the lid of his suitcase shut.
He pulls the tongue back, tightening
the covering with each tooth
clenched. The motion makes a noise
like the turning of an empty stomach
as if this is the first time they’ve talked
about this moment, a whisper
gasping between them. Before the zipping
completes, a sleeve spills out and she stays
his hand with her hand. He nods,
defeated. Their fingers work the sleeve back in
to zip. His bag rolls behind him and her eyes
have bags holding the luggage he has left.
———————————–
Here’s mine. I’m still processing my recent travels, and will post more on the trip.
(I still haven’t figured out how to copy poems into a post without the extra spaces. Sometimes it works as with Greg’s poem, but mostly not.)
Pre-dawn, Orlando Airport
Sky above runway: swimming
pool blue, streaks of lemonade
and tangerine, a white cartoon
vapor trail dividing night
from morning. Dazed awake,
we wait to bolt into air, one
more thrill taking us home.
An hour ago, at the curb,
in moist air, you and I
patted backs.
Under my palms, the bones
of your spine curved, a flightless
bird. That long leisure,
such hard work, bends you.
The sky lightens, a wash
of sun across the waiting room,
each passenger wrapped
in stillness, meditating
the astonishment of flight.
The embrace
of memory: one minute a child
listening to dishes clatter
in the kitchen, wrapping
deeper in quilts, hearing
a rumble of voices, a name
that sounds like ours
blinking through dreams
like last night’s
firefly.
Mattie's Pillow 