Monthly Archives: August 2011

Seat 21-E, SW 163

Seat 21-E sits empty beside me,
on this nearly full flight,
provides
space:
space to spread out and relax,
space to enjoy the company
of whomever I call to mind.

4 August 2011 
 Midway Tarmac

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Sticks and stones, but words

Sticks . . .
sharp
pointed
jagged
sticks.

. . . and stones . . .
dull 
ragged
rough 
stones.
. . . but words . . .
rip
wound
destroy.
Sticks . . . 
green
growing
supportive
sticks.
. . . and stones . . . 
smooth
polished
shiny 
stones.
. . . but words . . .
caress
nurture
heal.
2 August 2011
SW 646 and Shire West

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Living without love

Waiting in line to buy
junk food I did not need,
I was more than a bit befuddled to hear
the young clerk wonder:
“Would you rather have
love or money?”
It seemed a most out-of-place
inappropriate query to pose to
an absolute stranger who only wanted
a candy bar filled with sugar and calories
that would do me no good.
As I stood searching for
a response that seemed witty –
or someone germane –
or at least not totally inane,
she spoke again.
“‘Would you rather have
love or money?’
That’s what she asked.
And I said:
money!
Love is too stressful.”
My disorientation deepened.
Who was this mysterious woman
who posed to my clerk the question?
And what was going on?
Was she expecting a response from me?
From the guy stacking the shelves?
From someone I failed to see?
Was she practicing a soliloquy:
preparing to audition for some part
that might forever transform her life?
I’ll never know.
Silently I took my change
and stepped toward the door,
but on the way,
a thought – unsaid, but still recalled,
filled my spirit, mind, heart:
love brings stress; it’s never easy–
commitment, compromise, costs.
But what of the stress,
and what of the costs,
and what of the loss,
of the utter, empty barrenness
of living without love?

2 August 2011
Gate B-19, MDW

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Pots

It took me a while to get there. Several times I tried to visit the Coronado State Monument in Bernalillo, New Mexico – north of Albuquerque. Each time, the monument was closed. Finally, on a cold day last January, I made it. The visit proved worth the wait.

For some reason, among the landscapes and the history, these pots spoke to me. They simply hung on the wall – but they seemed full of meaning as they did.

Is that a sheet of ice covering the top? Or the inside of the pot? I can’t tell. I don’t remember.

See you along the Trail.

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