Contributed by:
Tabitha Dial, YourHub.com
Article Contributed on: 7/14/2006 11:47:12 AM
That's right.
My boss is letting me take a little time off. I plan to read,
work on my novel, write a lot of poetry, maybe paint a bit and certainly enjoy a quiet camping trip with
Alex.
We don't know where we're going yet, so please post your suggestions in the comments box below:
Now, I've had this vacation poem filed away since June 9. It's my pleasure to share with you
Rita Dove's poetry, courtesy of
Poets.org.
|
| Vacation | |
|
I love the hour before takeoff,
that stretch of no time, no home
but the gray vinyl seats linked like
unfolding paper dolls. Soon we shall
be summoned to the gate, soon enough
there'll be the clumsy procedure of row numbers
and perforated stubs-but for now
I can look at these ragtag nuclear families
with their cooing and bickering
or the heeled bachelorette trying
to ignore a baby's wail and the baby's
exhausted mother waiting to be called up early
while the athlete, one monstrous hand
asleep on his duffel bag, listens,
perched like a seal trained for the plunge.
Even the lone executive
who has wandered this far into summer
with his lasered itinerary, briefcase
knocking his knees-even he
has worked for the pleasure of bearing
no more than a scrap of himself
into this hall. He'll dine out, she'll sleep late,
they'll let the sun burn them happy all morning
-a little hope, a little whimsy
before the loudspeaker blurts
and we leap up to become
Flight 828, now boarding at Gate 17.
Reprinted from
On the Wing, published by the University of Iowa Press. |