Saturday, October 21, 2006

transit

I was born in transit
Seattle to New York to Seattle again
LA in between
Then the coastal excursion
Lifted from my bed in a dead sleep
By the mother who disappeared
The week before with the laundry
And returned in the night

We drove from Seattle to Sonoma
Without telling my father goodbye

The moon raced alongside

Later
On a scratchy phone line he told me he loved me
When the line went cold I sang his lullaby
Papa gonna buy you a diamond ring
And bragged of my daddy to the neighbor girls
Who looked at me sideways, strangely and said
You don’t have a daddy

Reunion came at a cost
The father restored
The mother lost

That was Denver
I was 5

And the transit that would fire across far networks
As I aged into my own peregrinations
Had just begun

I have traveled to find friends, family and comfort
The rich good food of interest and experience
In found and forgotten corners

But it occured to me this morning
As I poured the coffee that anchors me
That is always bitter & good
That maybe the dull ache that lives constant
In this cavity, spooning my heart
Is knowing there is no one place to return to
There is no one place to gather all at once
To call my friends close
To hear their laughter fill the room

4 comments:

Lolabola said...

now I'm all melancholy at 7am and off to catch a bus to visit family and crying.

you have a way with words :)

suttonhoo said...

hey lola -- thanks -- this one was so rough I almost didn't throw it out here -- it's nice to hear that it found a sweet spot.

hope it's the good kind of melancholy. ;) have a good one.

Anali said...

That is beautiful. I really like the stories and poems about your father. They are the good kind of melancholy, when I think of them all together. The bitter with the sweet as you said.

heather lorin said...

There is no one place to gather all at once
To call my friends close
To hear their laughter fill the room
- I so get that.

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