traveling a time
line i be what it says yet
sometimes i choose

I held tight my belongings
afraid of everything and everyone
I had this sense of not knowing
where I'm from and where I should go

everything passed by so quickly
people running and screaming
I just sat quietly staring
at the tiffany blue coloured floor

I smelled the pollution
my nose hurting while breathing
this must be what they mean when they say
"it's hard living in the big city”

We’re off to New Haven - hurry, hurry -
we’re jammin, crammin, slappin'
and slammin' everything into our bags.

“Fifteen minutes to take-off,”
Michael announced, “the chopper's waiting.”
with hugs all around we separated.

Our roommates too, are all catching flights
vectoring in from various sites -
our motley group will reassemble tonight.

Pew rated Yale one of the hardest universities
to get into in '23 - so is it really a certainty
that our cardkeys will let us into our residency?

Fall grades came out yesterday - Lisa and I are all grins
- we’ll have thirteen days to visit and settle in
and reorganize things before Spring semester begins.

I hope that your vacations were as fun as ours
but the New Year’s begun and in a matter of hours
we’ll resume the school grind, our holidays devoured.

i arrived
early enough
to be comfortable
in my seat as
the patient and
impatient alike
shuffled the aisle
negotiating the overflow
of flaring elbows
protruding feet
and cumbersome torsos
a waltz of
dismissive apology
their only hope
to find their place
without inconvenience
yet with little interest
in whether they might
inconvenience
other passengers
along the way

watching
as a man
recently evicted
from the seat
he had evidently
not booked
surveys the nearby
empty spaces
his mind churning
an internal gamble
of which one
might promise
the longer period
   of peace
before the rightful
owner arrives
he knows
he will need
to relocate
once more before
his journey's end
at some point
unknown to him
but predetermined
nonetheless
despite this
he settles down
in a seat marked
"reserved"
and closes
his eyes

After all these years
when i step into
the land of rye
i can still hear summer
its most authentic heartbeat
roar of the machine takes over
from the rasping scythe
cutting through stalks
when the grains are harvested to the barn
they'll be no more painful stubble at the feet
after many years
the summer is still so **** hot
i like it just as before
the season of mellow mango scent
and pleasant earthly aroma of barley
though all beings are a little deflated
no one wishes to light the flame
at the moment i miss the dense woods in the distance
because that's where cool breezes are born
i appreciate the hospitality of the cotton and corn
they keep bringing the joy of maturity
flowers are exceptionally generous
they keep painting the landscape
standing on the fresh verdant ground
let the rainstorm clean my dusty soul
summer is the season of zeal
i will extract the poetic fragrance
on every lush green plant
so that folks longing for a peaceful mind
can get a peaceful lyrical feeling
across this summer
i especially like the other side of the water
where i can dance with the shy lotus
this summer i've gathered
a bowlful of poems to read
with you.

I can't speak for the others
I can only reflect on my own thoughts and the heat of discomfort.

I can't speak for the woman who wept beside her oversized suitcases on the Piccadilly Line to Heathrow, I can only consider her tears and what they did to my own heartache.

I didn't speak, but I reached over after several minutes of communal silence and placed a tissue (clean and unused) on her lap.  Before I was back in my seat, she had taken it and covered her face in her grief and the tears came again.

The grandmother across from me got up next and placed a red stripped mint on the woman's skirt.

The dad who stood in the doorway, dressed for the beach, followed, leaving an offering of a capri-sun.

The child in the pram looked up at his mother and she smiled encouragement to him, as he offered his Spider-Man, pressing it to the woman's hand

and as she unveiled her face and saw the offerings, she laughed, brief and wet, but with a smile that stayed.  She hugged Spider-Man, nodded and then with a sensibility to a child's needs, handed it back with thanks.

After a moment she found my eyes, and mimed a request for a fresh tissue and then in the silence she settled for her journey as we all looked away, dutifully silent.

Travelling isn't fun,

I struggle to go, hoping --


to arrive quickly.