getting there and back: 2-11-98
The sound of unbuckling seatbelts.
"37 minutes", he told his wife.
1 minute for each of us,
I thought,
including the stewardess -
not counting the unknowns
in the cabin -
they're on their own time.
*
Staring out the window
beyond the tip of the metal wing
spectacular sunset
suspended above and endless ocean
of quilted cotton clouds.
* * * *
to Roger
prior to his 49th (though some say 50th) birthday
Tears come to my eyes
as words tumble out of the radio.
An elderly gentleman poet
reads aloud
the love letters
he wrote to his wife,
also a poet,
after she died.
I wonder -
who will be left behind
to write words of love
to the other.
You
or I?
* * * *
(c)Marie L. Nemir 1998
more issue #4 of inevitability press